


you belong with me

by countthestars



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - High School, Angst, F/M, Growing Up, M/M, Taylor Swift - Freeform, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-18
Updated: 2015-02-18
Packaged: 2018-03-10 01:55:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 35,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3272471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/countthestars/pseuds/countthestars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Liam and Harry grow up, fall apart, and figure it all out.</p><p>Or, the one where Harry gets famous and Liam gets left behind, and sometimes you find that what you're looking for has been here the whole time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you belong with me

**Author's Note:**

> this is the longest thing i've ever written, and required the most help to make it possible.
> 
> thanks to sam, who is a shooting star and the wind beneath my wings, for all her help in fleshing this out and polishing it off, and most off all being the best cheerleader anyone could have. thanks to katie & kirsty for the huge help in making this passably british; any remaining mistakes are my own. finally, thanks to taylor swift for providing the title & soundtrack. 
> 
> special thanks to the amazing [speakingwosound](http://archiveofourown.org/users/sev313/pseuds/speakingwosound) for making the incredible artwork to go along with this fic. please check out the au gifset [here](http://speakingwosound.tumblr.com/post/111421814453/you-belong-with-me-by-countthestars) and the playlist [here](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLuj5NWYlT_s_tOWn3I8uHuRN-M3o0Q51c)!

 

**[side a]**

 

 **track one: starlight  
** _**"don't you dream impossible things?”** _

 

Even though his mum and dad had sat him and his sisters down weeks ago and explained all about his dad’s job transferring and a fresh start in a new town, Liam's feet stick to the pavement the day he walks home from school and sees the _For Sale_ sign in front of the house.

He tightens his grip on the straps of his backpack, wincing at the way it stings his scraped knuckles. His sisters had cried and cried when his mum told them they were moving, wailing loudly about leaving behind their friends, how everything was so unfair, and couldn’t she see that it would _ruin their lives_? Liam had kept his head down, lips pressed tightly together so his sisters wouldn’t see the way he was trying not to smile. He only had one friend, and sometimes Andy joined in when the others picked on him. The time Liam had worked up the courage to ask him about it, Andy had laughed at him and told him to “stop being such a pussy, Liam, god.”

He hadn’t asked Andy about it again. The only thing worse than having a bad friend was having no friends. And anyway, Andy wasn’t _that_ bad. He sat with Liam at lunch almost every day to share Liam's crisps and always asked nicely to copy Liam’s schoolwork.

Scuffing his shoe against the pavement, Liam stares at the sign, smiling wide even though it hurts his split lip. He needs to hurry, get inside and clean himself off before his mum can see and fuss over him, but he stands there for a moment, letting himself hope.

A fresh start in a new town. Maybe Liam will meet new friends, or at the very least, get a bigger bedroom. Hitching up his backpack, Liam cuts across the grass to the front door, so lost in his daydreams that it takes him three tries to get the key in the lock.

-

Liam can’t tell if his new room is smaller, or if the stack of boxes piled high just makes it look that way. He tries to help the movers carry in more boxes from the removal van, but his mum scolds him for being underfoot and tells him to start unpacking his things. With heavy footsteps, Liam plods up the stairs and down the hall to his room, throwing himself onto the bare mattress. Somewhere there’s a box filled with sheets and things, but if Liam finds it then he’ll have to make his bed.

Bright sunlight shines through his bedroom window (there’s another box, somewhere, with curtains and things, even though Liam tried very hard to throw out the bunny rabbit patterned ones he’s had since he was a baby, in the hopes his mum would buy him Batman curtains instead) and Liam feels an itch under his skin. It’s too nice to stay inside and unpack things all day.

Mind made up, Liam jumps off the bed and searches through the stack of boxes until he finds the one labeled ‘TOYS.’ Tearing the tape off the cardboard flaps, he digs through the box until he unearths a football, tucking it under his arm. A quick peek around the stair railing reveals that his mum is busy out front directing the movers, so Liam hurries out the back before she can catch him. She’ll figure out soon enough that he’s having a kickabout in the garden and send him back upstairs to unpack, glaring in that way that only mums can, but he can at least have a bit of fun first.

The garden is bigger than their old one, narrow but stretching back far enough that Liam can stretch his legs a bit, kicking the footie around and scoring pretend goals, raising his arms in triumph every time he makes a shot. It’s not as fun as playing with a mate, but Liam’s used to making do on his own.

He’s working up a proper sweat, t-shirt sticking to his back uncomfortably, when several things happen all at once. His foot is cocked back, ready to make another game-winning goal, when someone yelps in alarm. The noise startles him so much that he almost misses kicking the ball entirely, and instead sends it flying in a wide arc straight into the neighbor’s window. There’s a loud thump behind him, like a bag of potatoes hitting the ground, at the exact moment the window shatters into a splintered spiderweb of glass.

Liam gapes at the broken window in horror as the bag of potatoes groans behind him. Whirling around, Liam realizes that it is in fact not potatoes, but a boy around Liam’s own age. Still lying on the ground, the boy rolls over onto his back with another groan, cradling his wrist to his chest. He blinks up at Liam with big green eyes, a dazed look on his face.

“Hullo,” the boy says with a slightly pained smile.

“Where did you come from?” Liam blurts out. It’s not very polite, but probably falling into someone’s garden isn’t good manners, either.

The boy points up at the tree branch over their heads with the hand not tucked protectively into his chest. Liam peers curiously up at the branch. It doesn’t look like a very safe place to be.

He’s about to tell the boy so when a woman’s voice calls out, “Harry? Harry! What have I told you about kicking balls in the garden!”

“Oh no,” Liam says, horrified. “Is that your mum? I’m so sorry, I’ve broken your window.”

Still grinning at him, Harry offers his good hand so Liam can pull him to his feet. He stumbles a bit, grabbing hold of Liam’s shoulder to steady himself and keeping his hurt wrist close to chest. “Don’t worry, it was my fault for scaring you. I’ll tell her it was me, okay?”

Liam gapes at him. “Why would you do that?”

Harry shrugs. “That’s what friends do, isn’t it?”

“But we’re not friends,” Liam argues immediately, wishing he could bite his tongue the minute the words escape his mouth.

Harry doesn’t look upset, though. Instead he offers Liam his hand again. Liam takes it cautiously, and Harry shakes firmly. “Hullo, ‘m Harry, nice to meet you,” he says, smiling so hard that two dimples appear in his cheeks.

“I’m Liam,” Liam says, sweaty fingers gripping Harry’s.

“Excellent!” Harry beams. “ _Now_ we’re friends. C’mon, you can meet my mum. She won’t yell at me if we’ve got company.”

Liam’s heart sinks a bit at the words. He’d thought, for a minute, that Harry had wanted to actually be Liam’s friend, but probably he just didn’t want to get into trouble. It doesn’t quite make sense, since it was Liam’s fault anyway and Harry didn’t have to take the blame, but then Harry had fallen pretty hard from the tree. Maybe he hit his head.

“Coming, Liam?” Harry’s paused at the gate, head tilted to the side as he looks back at Liam.

Taking a deep breath, Liam squares his shoulders and follows after Harry. He has no idea what he’s doing, but if Liam’s learned anything, it’s that a bad friend is better than no friends.

-

Harry tells his mum a long, elaborate story about how the window got broken while Liam nods along nervously at his side. He forgets to make up an excuse about how he hurt his wrist and says, “huh” in a stumped voice when she points it out.

His mum just rolls her eyes and asks if Liam would like to ride along to A&E to get Harry’s wrist x-rayed. With all the excitement, Liam had sort of forgotten that he was supposed to be unpacking, but when he tells his mum that he wants to be there for his new friend, she lets him go with a watery smile, wiping at her eyes when she thinks he isn’t looking. Liam pretends not to see.

Harry chatters away the entire ride to the hospital and charms all the nurses at A&E within minutes of their arrival, grinning at them cheekily from under his mess of curly hair.

“Oh, he’s going to a heart breaker, isn’t he?” one of the nurses tells Harry’s mum, smiling fondly at him. Harry preens under the attention and Liam wonders what it’s like, to have people smile at you like that wherever you go. Then Harry aims his grin at Liam and he thinks, _oh_.

It’s a long wait for the x-rays to come back, and then Harry’s cheering loudly for his fractured wrist and asking Liam what color cast he should get. Liam has never met anyone that excited about breaking a bone and cautiously suggests blue. Harry announces that it “looks sick” and makes Liam sign it first with a Sharpie borrowed from one of the nurses.

The whole drive home, Liam keeps sneaking glances at Harry’s cast. Liam's name is scrawled across the inside of Harry’s wrist and Harry keeps rubbing his fingers over the spot absently, like he’s feeling for his pulse despite the plaster covering his skin.

By the time Harry’s mum pulls into the driveway, its nearly dark. The movers are gone and the house is lit up, save for Liam’s darkened bedroom window near the back. Harry’s mum invites him to dinner, but Liam politely declines.

“I have to finish unpacking,” he says with reluctance, climbing slowly from the car.

“I can help!” Harry chirps.

“Oh, no, you don’t want- it’s boring, unpacking, and your arm-” Liam starts, rambling.

“Don’t be silly, Liam. You sat with me all afternoon. You signed my cast! We’re, like, blood brothers now. Broken bone brothers!”

Harry’s mum snorts. “Please don’t break any bones for my son, Liam. He’s a trouble-maker, this one.” She ruffles his hair affectionately before Harry swats her hand away, protesting. “ _Mum_!”

Liam bites back a smile. “I don’t mind, Harry, if you really want to help.”

And that’s how Liam finds himself plodding up the stairs, Harry following at his heels like an excited puppy. “It’s not much,” Liam cautions as they walk down the hall, “I’ve got the smallest room, and there’s boxes everywhere, so, like-”

Harry bursts into the room before Liam can finish his sentence. “Oh my god, Liam, your room is across from mine! This is so cool, I bet we can pass stuff back and forth.” Shoving the window open, Harry sticks his head out until he’s leaning all the way past the window frame.

“Harry…” Liam says, worry edging his voice. “Be careful. You’d break more than your arm, falling from the window.”

Ducking back inside, Harry shoots him a mischievous grin. “Bet we could jump across. How sick would that be? C’mon, let’s give it a go!”

Liam feels his eye bulge out his head at Harry’s suggestion. Harry keeps a straight face for all of ten seconds before crumpling into laughter. “Your face! Oh man, Liam, you should see yourself.”

Crossing his arms, Liam gives Harry his best glare. It never worked on the bullies- he still got beat up all the time- but his dad says he’ll grow into it some day, grow into a body that no one will mess with. Harry must catch his expression, because he stops laughing immediately, and Liam instantly regrets it, that he’s gone and ruined this friendship before it even got started, over something as stupid as being laughed at.

“Hey, Liam,” Harry says. “‘M sorry, I didn’t mean to laugh at you. Thought I was laughing with you, only you weren’t laughing, so.” He smiles apologetically.

“It’s okay,” Liam offers. “I’m not mad. I just worry sometimes, is all.”

“That's what I like about you, Liam. My mum thinks I’m going to break my neck someday, but now I’ve got somebody to save me!” Harry beams at him, like Liam really is some sort of savior.

Liam thinks he’s got it backwards, but swallows back the words.

-

“Harry, I swear to god you’re going to break your neck.”

Even though its dark, Liam can see the gleam of Harry’s teeth in the soft glow of moonlight as he grins. “You sound like my mum. Please, Liam, I’ve done this, like, a thousand times.”

It’s probably closer to a hundred, but Harry’s always been prone to exaggeration. With an aggrieved sigh, Liam widens his stance, knees braced against the wall below the windowsill. Harry climbs from his own window and onto the narrow ledge of roof with all the grace of a puppet whose strings have been cut, gearing himself up to leap.

It’s a short jump from Harry’s roof to Liam’s, no more than four feet, but it’s the drop that Liam worries about. In the years that Liam has known him, Harry’s broken more bones that he can count. Since that first day, it’s always been Liam who signs his cast first.

Counting quietly to the three so their parents won’t overhear, Harry jumps from the roof with gangly legs he hasn’t quite grown into. He lands with a thump on the ledge outside Liam’s window, beaming as Liam automatically grabs Harry by the forearms, pulling him up.

“Never let me fall, will you Liam?”

“You’re an idiot,” Liam returns, still trying to tug Harry inside. Harry fights against Liam’s hold, which is stupid since only one of them is currently in danger of falling from the roof.

“C’mon, Liam,” Harry cajoles. “Sit out on the ledge with me? We can stargaze.”

Liam rolls his eyes. “You can see, like, five stars from here.”

“Yeah, but they’re the _best_ five stars.” Harry pats the roof next to him, eyes bright as he looks at Liam hopefully.

It’s not the first time Liam’s given into that look, and it won’t be the last. Harry cheers quietly as Liam crawls out of the window and settles next to him. The ledge is wide enough that they can both fit comfortably, legs dangling over the edge and backs pressed tight to the bricks on either side of Liam’s bedroom window. Harry tilts his head back, angling his face up towards the sky like he actually intends to stargaze. Liam lets his eyes close, revels in the thrill of nothing but air beneath his feet even as his fingers grip the shingles tightly.

“Summer’s almost over,” Harry says eventually.

“Mmm,” Liam mumbles.

“You're gonna be thirteen soon. A real teenager.”

Liam cracks one eye open, glancing towards Harry. “Jealous of how cool and important I’ll be?”

“You’re already the coolest, most important person I know, Li,” Harry says immediately, grinning widely. Liam snorts and Harry bumps his knuckles against Liam’s.

“Hey,” he says, softer. “‘M serious, you know. You’re my best friend, Liam.”

Liam can’t help the way his lips pull up into a smile that mirrors Harry’s. “Yeah, I know. You’re mine too, Haz.”

Harry looks smug, like it's some sort of competition, as if the title of Liam Payne’s Best Friend is a hard won prize. A slight breeze ruffles the bunny rabbit curtains still hanging in Liam’s window and Liam wonders, not for the first time, what Harry sees in him.

Before he can dwell on that thought, Harry suddenly exclaims excitedly and points up to the sliver of sky visible between the rooftops. “Look, Li, a shooting star! Quick, quick, make a wish!” Harry screws his eyes up tight, wishing with his whole body, and Liam feels his own eyes crinkle up under the force of his smile. He takes a deep breath, closes his eyes properly, and makes a wish.

“What’d you wish for?” Liam whispers a moment later.

“Shh, can’t tell you or it won’t come true.”

“I’ll tell you mine,” Liam offers. “Won’t come true anyway, so no harm in saying it.”

Harry gives him a reproachful look. “That’s why you wish on stars, Liam. For impossible things. So they’ll come true.”

Drawing his knees up so the soles of his feet catch on the edge of the roof, a buffer against falling, Liam bites his lip. “I wished that I’d be a famous musician someday,” he says anyway, the words bursting out of him, too loud in the quiet night.

For a long moment, Harry is silent. Liam’s too afraid to look at him, doesn’t want to see laughter- or worse, pity- in his best mate’s eyes.

“Why d’you think that’d be impossible, Liam?” Harry finally says, voice careful. “You can really sing, y'know that? God, you’d be amazing.”

Liam looks up in surprise. “When have you heard me sing?”

“Please, Liam. You sing _all the time_ , when you think no one’s listening.”

He can feel the heat in his cheeks and is thankful its too dark for Harry to see. “Yeah, well,” he mumbles, ducking his head down.

Harry scoots closer until he can nudge his shoulder against Liam’s. “Hey,” he says, eyes intense as he catches Liam’s gaze. “We could do it, you know. You and me. Be famous singers, take over the world.”

“Like Simon and Garfunkel?” Liam laughs.

“Well,” Harry considers. “I was thinking more like Sonny and Cher, but that’s the general idea, yes.”

Liam shakes his head. “Such an idiot.”

“See? You’ll keep me grounded so my head doesn’t get too big and I’ll fend off the groupies so they don’t impinge on your honor.”

Fighting back the giggles that are trying to escape, Liam nudges Harry’s shoulder back. “You can write the lyrics, since you know so many big words.”

Harry grins, eyes twinkling brighter than the stars overhead. “Deal.” He settles into Liam’s side, all knobby elbows and bony knees. “Gonna take over the whole world, Li. You’ll see.”

For a moment, Liam lets himself believe it. It’s hard to imagine, something that big, because Liam’s whole world is a slice of sky with five stars and a boy with a smile too charming for his own good.

 

 

 **track two: sparks fly  
** _“ **get me with those green eyes, baby, as the lights go down”**_

 

 ****It’s Liam’s kidney that saves him from Harry’s puppy eyes.

Or, rather, it’s his missing kidney that does the trick. No matter how many times Harry invites him to some party or another, Liam can always fall back on his dependably absent kidney.

“You know I can’t drink, Haz. Do you have any idea how annoying drunk people are when you’re sober?”

Harry will usually give him a cheeky smile, because no, Harry’s never had the pleasure of staying sober while everyone else around him drinks themselves stupid. They were about fourteen when they went to their first house party, Harry dragging a reluctant Liam along. That was how it usually went: Harry leading, and Liam following after, equal parts worried and excited for whatever mess Harry was sure to get them in- and back out of- this time.

The party was a blur of dancing bodies and pounding music and Liam feeling too hot around the collar of his polo shirt. It ended with Harry’s head in the toilet, Liam crouched next to him and brushing his sweaty curls back from his forehead with gentle fingers.

“Never again,” Harry croaked after he managed to flush. “‘M never drinking again.”

That had lasted about three weeks before Liam found himself trailing after Harry to another party, bassline vibrating the floor under his feet and sweaty press of bodies swallowing Harry within moments. Liam made his way to the kitchen and poured himself a coke, hiding out on the back patio while the party raged inside.

He only braved the crowded house again once it got dangerously close to their curfew, fully expecting to find Harry on his knees, bent over a toilet.

Instead, he found him on a couch, bent over a girl. Liam froze for a moment, completely at a loss. As if he felt Liam’s burning gaze, Harry lifted his head, his mouth red and wet, eyes dark as they locked on to Liam. Then he was ducking back down, murmuring something into the girl’s ear before stumbling off the couch and into Liam’s side.

“Li’m,” he slurred. “Lets g’home, yeah? ‘M tired.”

Liam took Harry home, arm around his waist the whole way to steady him, but he didn’t follow him to another party, after that.

-

Harry makes a habit of showing up at Liam’s every Sunday whenever he picks a party over Liam, bestowing Liam’s mum with a bright smile despite being obviously hungover. Liam usually lets him suffer a bit, making polite conversation with his mum until he’ll excuse them both and they can retreat to Liam’s room, where Harry will flop all over his bed, moaning pathetically.

“You know,” Liam says conversationally from where he’s sat on the floor, book draped over his lap in a poor attempt at studying, “there’s actually a hangover cure that works every single time.”

Harry raises his head, squinting his eyes aggressively at Liam. “You been holding out on me, Li? Keeping secret hangover cures all to yourself?”

Liam shrugs. “You want to hear it or not?”

“Yes,” Harry groans. “Please enlighten me. Feel like my fuckin’ head's about to explode.”

“It’s just one easy step,” Liam explains. “See, all you have to do is not drink.”

Harry glares at him and Liam grins. “Just look at me! Never had a hangover in my life. It’s foolproof.”

“I hate you.”

“You love me.”

Harry presses his face into Liam’s pillow, wilted curls spilling everywhere. “You’re lucky you’re my best mate, or I’d definitely hate you.”

“That doesn’t even make sense, Haz,” Liam argues, but he grins stupidly down at his book all the same.

-

Liam is peeling an orange in the cafeteria when Harry slaps a piece of paper down on the table in front of him. He frowns as the orange squirts a bit, dripping onto the paper and also into his eye.

“Ow,” he mumbles, pressing his palm to his eye in a failed attempt to alleviate the stinging.

“Liam,” Harry says with an air of importance. “Forget your orange. This is more important.”

“What is it?” Liam asks. “I’ve been blinded.”

“You’re being dramatic, but that’s good. Really good, actually. This is a notice for the spring musical. We’re going to audition.”

Liam stares at Harry with his good eye. “We’re what?”

“It’s _Grease_ ,” Harry says, as if that explains anything at all.

“I can see that,” Liam says, gesturing to the slightly soggy paper. “I meant, why are we auditioning?”

Leaning in close, Harry whispers conspiratorially, “It’s step one, Liam. Star in _Grease_. Step two is take over the world.”

Liam tries to muffle his laugh by stuffing an orange slice in his mouth. He swallows before saying, “Think you might be missing some steps.”

“We’ll make it up as we go. C’mon, Liam. This our dream! You and me, Danny and Kenickie!”

“Thought we were Simon and Garfunkel.”

Harry grins. “Sonny and Cher, actually.”

Liam rolls his eyes, pulling apart another section of orange. “I’ll audition,” he agrees, mostly to humor Harry and his habit of dusting off old dreams. “But you’re still an idiot.”

“You wound me, Liam.” He steals an orange slice from Liam’s tray, popping it into his mouth and spraying juice everywhere.

-

Liam’s so nervous the day of the audition that he nearly throws up, dry heaving in the bathroom ten minutes beforehand. It’s Harry who finds him, makes him sip some water and take deep breaths until he’s calm enough to walk to the auditorium on shaky legs, sinking into the seat next to Harry.

Harry smashes his audition, hitting all the notes in _Summer Night_ and oozing so much charm he makes John Travolta look like an amateur.

When it’s Liam’s turn, the nerves come rushing back and he hopes that the way his knees are knocking together isn’t obvious to the audience as he adjusts the microphone. He feels like he might throw up again and swallows heavily before opening his mouth to sing. His eyes slip shut as he belts out the song, words flowing easily even as sweat pools in his palms. There’s polite applause from the other students watching as he exits the stage and a loud whoop that can only be Harry.

Liam shoots him a grateful smile as he climbs back into his seat. Harry leans over to whisper into Liam’s ear, “fucking smashed it bro, sounded so good” and Liam allows himself a smile, the fleeting hope that only seems to bubble to the surface when Harry’s by his side and all his faraway dreams feel like they’re within reach.

-

Even though they’re only Year 10 students, Liam’s not surprised when the cast list is posted and Harry gets the part of Danny.

It hurts, though, that it’s not Liam’s name scrawled next to Kenickie. Instead it’s some loud-mouthed Year 11 student Liam’s heard of, but never spoken to.

“Oh my god, Liam, look, we’re both T-Birds! This is so amazing. Holy shit, look, look, Louis fucking Tomlinson is Kenickie! Liam, you don’t understand, Louis is like, he’s- god. This is _amazing_.”

If Liam’s smile is strained, Harry doesn’t notice.

-

Being a T-Bird means that while Liam doesn't get any solos, he does get an up-close view of Harry and Louis practicing theirs during rehearsals. It's sort of amazing to watch Harry flourish under the stage lights, hitting notes that give Liam actual goosebumps and clearly relishing every minute of it.

It's less amazing watching Louis fucking Tomlinson prance all over the stage, trying to make people laugh and mess up their lines until the director gets fed up and sends them all home early. He keeps trying to trip Liam when they're practicing choreography, smiling innocently whenever Liam glares at him. When Liam finally tells him to knock it off, Louis rolls his eyes and says, “lighten up, Payne. Just trying to get you to loosen up a bit.”

There's a hard edge to his smile when he adds, “Makes it hard to dance when you've got a stick shoved that far up your arse.”

Harry doesn't hear, too busy flirting with the girl playing Sandy. Liam presses his lips into a thin line and focuses on his legwork.

Later, when Harry is sprawled across his bed and Liam has given up on his maths homework, he makes the mistake of telling Harry that he doesn't think Louis likes him very much.

“Are you kidding? Louis likes everybody! God, he's so funny, Li. He's always making people laugh, you know?”

He's always making _you_ laugh, Liam doesn't say. “He's _distracting_ ,” Liam argues instead. “We haven't made it through one rehearsal without him interrupting it. At this rate, opening night is going to be a disaster.”

Harry rolls over so that his head is hanging upside down from the bed and he can meet Liam's eye. “Have I ever told you that you worry too much? Because you worry too much. Opening night will go fine. And anyway, Louis' got _stage presence_. We need him to pull everything together.”

Liam plays with the frayed edge of the hole in his jeans, his knobby knee poking through.

“Liam,” Harry says. “You're not still upset about not getting Kenickie's part, are you? Because you would've been amazing, you really would have, but you know Louis' been in the spring musical every year. He's the director's favorite. I'm surprised he didn't get cast as Danny, actually.”

Swallowing heavily, Liam turns towards Harry. “I'm not. Have you seen yourself up there, Haz? It's like- it's like-” he casts around for a word, but comes up frustratingly empty.

Harry beams at him all the same. “Thanks, Li.” He offers Liam a fist to pound. “T-birds for life, hey?”

He waits for Liam to press his knuckles against his before rolling back over. “Gonna smash it opening night. You'll see.”

Liam can't help but believe him.

-

They get a standing ovation opening night and Harry's grin could power a small town. Liam watches him take a bow center stage and thinks, _this is just the beginning_. Harry's future is a bright as any star and not for the first time, Liam believes that he could do it. Harry could take over the whole world.

After all, he's already taken over Liam's.

-

Not even Liam’s missing kidney can save him from the cast party. Harry gives him his best puppy dog eyes and Liam thinks he must’ve been practicing, because never before has Liam felt his heart thud in his chest like that.

“You don’t have to drink. C’mon Li, please? It won’t be the same without you.”

Liam doesn’t ask if Louis is going, but only because he already knows the answer. Instead he follows after Harry, because some habits are hard to break.

-

It’s like being fourteen all over again, feeling uncomfortable in his own skin and palms itching with nerves. A cheer goes up when Harry and Liam walk through the door and Harry is pulled into the crowd, leaving Liam standing awkwardly in the front hall. Then a cup is being pressed into his hand and lips to his cheek- one of the girls who played a Pink Lady, he thinks, but the lights are turned down low and its hard to say for sure. Liam sniffs cautiously at the drink. It smells like beer and he jerks his head back reflexively. He weaves his way through the crowd until he finds the kitchen where he can pour himself something his kidney can manage.

The kitchen’s crowded with people and when Liam reaches for a cup to pour himself some juice, there’s another Pink Lady, a girl named Jade, waving him off and promising to mix him something delicious.

“No alcohol!” Liam shouts over the music.

Jade grins back at him with lips a waxy, lipsticked red. A moment later she hands over the cup, waiting expectantly as Liam takes a sip.

“Well?” she leans in so she doesn’t have to yell. “Taste any alcohol?”

“Nope!” Liam squeezes her arm in thanks. Whatever it is, it tastes good and Liam drowns half of it in one go. Jade laughs, bracing herself with a hand against Liam’s shoulder to press her mouth closer to his ear. “Come find me when you want another, all right?”

He nods and gets another kiss to the cheek, rubbing his fingertips over the tacky remnants of lipstick as she darts away.

Unlike the parties Harry’s dragged him to in the past, Liam actually knows almost everyone here and it makes it unbelievably easier to muddle his way through conversation, despite the loud music. People keep pressing drinks into his hand and after his third or fourth, Liam starts to feel overheated, excusing himself from the kitchen.

He stumbles his way outside, looking down at his feet in confusion. They aren’t being cooperative, tripping him up when all he wants to do is get some fresh air. It’s not until he makes it to the door and has to try three times to turn the knob that he realizes that he’s drunk.

“I can’t be drunk,” he says out loud. “I haven’t been drinking.”

The door, being a door, doesn’t answer, but Liam manages to turn the knob the right way and then he’s staggering outside, breathing deep lungfuls of air as if it will flush the alcohol from his bloodstream.

“My kidney,” he mumbles sadly. He doesn’t know what will happen to it, just that his doctor told him drinking was dangerous and that Liam wouldn’t want to know what would happen if he tried it.

“I want to know,” Liam says. There’s no answer out here, either. Liam stands there for a long time, leaning against the side of the house. The feeling of bricks behind his back is familiar, but the ground is solid beneath his feet, even as the world seems to pitch back and forth. He lets his head fall back, thunking painfully against the wall. A handful of stars glitter overhead, but he can’t make his eyes focus enough to count them.

Eventually his eyelids start to droop. Liam has enough sense left to go back inside with a half formed plan to find Harry and beg him to take Liam home so he can pass out in his bed. It’s not as crowded inside as he remembered and the music seems almost muted. He passes a door that’s cracked open, a bathroom from the looks of it, and realizes how badly he needs a wee. Still not quite steady on his feet, he bangs the door all the way open with more force than he intended, _sorry_ ready to drop from his lips when he looks up and stalls.

It takes a minute for his brain to process the sight in front of him. That’s- god, that’s _Harry_ being pressed against the wall next to the sink, his hair a mess like someone’s been running their fingers through it. Liam can’t see the face of the person snogging him, but Harry’s hands are gripping the bloke’s arse with tight fingers, and that’s… that’s…

Harry’s kissing a bloke. His head tilts back as the bloke sucks bruising kisses onto his throat and Liam can see the way Harry’s eyelashes flutter, lips parting in a bitten off whimper. There’s a flash of teeth, _Louis’_ teeth, it’s Louis, Louis who’s got Harry pinned to the wall like that, Louis who’s pulling Harry apart, bit by bit.

Liam must make a noise, then, because Harry’s eyes suddenly flash open, so dark Liam can barely see the green. He blinks slowly at Liam, but then his eyes slip shut again as Louis does- something, Liam’s not sure, because he’s backing away, tripping down the hall, out the door. It’s too hot, it’s too much; it's like the ground has dropped away beneath his feet and there's nothing to grab on to.

 _Oh_ , Liam thinks dizzily. _Oh, this i_ _s why they call it falling in love._

 

 

 **track three: state of grace  
** _“ **you’re my achilles heel”**_

 

Liam doesn’t remember how he made it home, but he wakes up in his own bed Sunday morning with a pounding headache and a mouth full of cotton. He feels a stab of sympathy for Harry- god, is this really how awful hangovers always are? - before memories from last night come trickling back, as messy and disjointed as a kaleidoscope.

Then Liam is groaning, rolling out of bed and walking on trembling legs as fast he can to the bathroom. He retches miserably, emptying out his stomach before crawling into the shower. The hot water beating down against his skin washes away the stale sweat and lingering smell of sick, but it does nothing for his aching head or the images he can’t wipe from his mind.

Liam had thought- well, it was different, when Harry was with girls. Girls were soft skin and long legs, small hands and red lips, all the things Liam wasn’t. Harry _liked_ girls; Liam had seen the evidence, the marks they left on his skin and the sly smile when Liam would ask him about his night. Harry was never one to kiss and tell, but he also wasn’t shy about who he kissed, or where.

Liam didn’t know that Harry liked to kiss boys, too. Or maybe it was just Louis.

He stays in the shower until his skin is red and the tips of his fingers are wrinkled. All the dirt and grime has been washed away, swirling down the drain, forgotten, but the water goes cold before it can erode the feeling of betrayal sitting heavily in Liam’s gut.

-

Harry doesn’t come over. Liam’s mum asks him if everything is okay and Liam almost feels guilty when he lies and says he’s just feeling a bit poorly. It’s not a complete lie, anyway. Liam’s headache has barely faded by mid-afternoon and his stomach has been in knots all day.

It’s gone dark by the time he hears from Harry. He’s lying in bed, too miserable to turn even on a lamp. Harry’s window is dark, too. There’s been no movement behind his curtains all day. Not that Liam was watching, or anything. There’s just a limited view from Liam's window.

His phone beeps with a new text and Liam rolls over to grab it. He frowns at the message before hitting the call button.

Harry picks up on the first ring. “lo?”

“Why’d you want me to call? Could’ve just come over,” Liam says, instead of hello.

There’s a short pause on the other end of the line. “I’m walking home, actually,” Harry says after a moment.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” Harry laughs, a breathy sound in Liam’s ear. “I think,” he starts to say, but cuts himself off. His next words take Liam completely by surprise. “You ever been in love, Li?”

Liam forces out a laugh. “Course not. What, you think I’ve got a secret girlfriend or summat?”

He can almost hear Harry’s answering smile. “Dunno. You’re always full of surprises, Payno.”

Liam makes a noncommittal noise, listening for a moment to the quiet sound of Harry breathing down the line. “It’s Louis, isn’t it?” he says eventually.

“Think I really like him, Li,” Harry admits. “He’s, like- he’s the Sandy to my Danny, y’know?”

He barely manages to hold back a snort. “Thought he was Kenickie.”

“Nah,” Harry says easily. “That’s you. Always will be.”

Liam rolls his eyes. “You know that Danny and Kenickie don’t actually, like, make music together.”

“Liam. They make a _flying car_. That’s so much cooler.”

A car that Danny and Sandy fly off together in, Liam doesn’t point out. He clears his throat. “I’m happy for ya, Haz. Just- be careful, yeah?”

“Always worried,” Harry sounds fond. “Y'really need to stop mumming me, Liam.”

Liam smiles. “Yeah, yeah. Talk to you later, k?”

He ends the call, rolling back over to bury his face in the pillow. He falls asleep before Harry’s light turns on next door.

-

By the time school rolls around on Monday, there are already whispers in the hallways about Harry and Louis becoming A Thing.

Even though he had more or less warned Liam yesterday, the sight of Harry and Louis walking down the hall hand in hand still catches him off guard, like a shock of ice water. Harry catches Liam's eye as they stroll by, cheeks flushed pink with happiness. Liam forces his mouth into something resembling a smile and hopes it doesn't look as unnatural as it feels. He slams his locker shut with more force than necessary once they pass, pressing his forehead to the cool metal to give himself a moment.

During lunch, Harry sits down across from Liam like usual and Louis slides into the seat next to Harry like he belongs there. They both eat one handed and Liam concentrates on chewing each bite of his sandwich exactly 23 times. It doesn’t quite distract him from the way their hands are intertwined beneath the table and every bite sticks in his throat on the way down.

-

Louis slips into the fabric of their lives like a sharp blade piercing a chink in armor, quick and relentless.

He’s there everyday at lunch, cracking loud jokes that make Harry snort milk with helpless laughter. Louis looks equal parts fascinated and horrified the first time it happens and spends the rest of the term trying for a repeat performance. As the days drag on, more and more of his jokes are whispered directly into Harry's ear. Sometimes Harry will shout with laughter, clapping his hand over his mouth a moment later like he can take back the sound. Usually, though, he'll turn to Louis with a slow smirk, ducking his head to whisper back. Liam memorizes the pattern of the formica table-top, tracing his fingers over the whorls again and again.

After school, Louiswalks Harry home, hands clasped tightly togetherso they take up the entire pavement, forcing Liam to either walk in the muddy grass or trail after them like a lost puppy. He starts staying after school to study in the library. His mum cries when he gets his report card at the end of the term and hangs it on the fridge with pride, his marks are so good.

Summer brings a heat wave like they haven't seen in years, the air thick and muggy. Liam thinks about digging his old footie out of the garage to kick around the garden and flicks a guilty glance to the window he broke all those years ago. Harry had never confessed that it was really Liam's fault, but Liam suspected his mum had probably figured that out halfway through Harry's terrible lie.

Through his open bedroom window, Liam can hear the faint sounds of a film playing in Harry's room. Harry always invites Liam to watch movies with him and Louis, but Liam learned quickly that mostly meant he'd be stuck on a couch next to a snogging Harry and Louis for a painful hour and a half.

It's too hot to close the window, so Liam turns on his music and slips his headphones over his ears. It drowns out the sound next door, but doesn't do a thing about the noise in Liam's head.

Harry hasn’t tried to jump the roof between their windows since they were kids, but his feet have followed Liam’s up the stairs so many times that the worn wood knows his footsteps. It’s like something is missing, every time Liam climbs the stairs alone, walks down the hall to his too small bedroom that suddenly seems too big, without the sound of Harry’s laughter filling the space.

Every Sunday, at least, Harry faithfully shows up at Liam’s door. It almost makes up for the way that Harry leaves his curtains shut every night, the warm glow of his lamp leaving Liam in the cold.

-

Summer drags on, the days slowly rolling by until the fall term is looming on the horizon. Liam’s fan is pumping valiantly away against the thick heat when the buzzing of his phone pulls him from the edges of sleep.

“‘lo?” he answers without looking at the screen.

“L-li? C’n you. Lemme in, Li.”

Liam sits up. “Harry? What are you- are you drunk?”

“Please, Li’m. Don’ wanna b’lone.”

Harry's barely finished speaking before Liam's swinging his legs out of bed, reaching for a shirt to pull over his head. “Where are you, Harry? Tell me where you are.”

“‘m home. Lemme in.” Harry hangs up and Liam swears softly, padding down the stairs as quietly as possible. When he reaches the front door, he eases it open slowly, but Harry still stumbles forward jerkily, nearly knocking the breath out of Liam when he crashes into him with a low groan.

“Hey, hey. Easy, you’re all right,” Liam soothes in a quiet voice. “C’mon, let’s get you to bed.”

Harry nods against Liam’s chest, lets Liam guide him back up the stairs and drops heavily onto Liam’s mattress. It’s only when a shaft of moonlight falls across his face that Liam sees the tear tracks staining his cheeks.

“Oh, Haz,” he breathes, cupping Harry’s face and rubbing his thumbs over the vulnerable skin beneath his eyes. “What happened, babe?”

“Me ‘n Lou had a fight. Broke up,” Harry mumbles, pressing his cheek into Liam’s palm.

Liam freezes. “You what?”

Harry looks up at him, eyelashes clumped together and a sheen of wetness drowning out the green of his eyes. “Love ‘im so much, Li. What’m I g’nna do?”

“Shh, shh, it’ll be okay. C’mon, babe, budge up.” Harry shifts back and Liam crawls into bed next to him, wrapping his arms around Harry's back. Its too hot, holding onto him like this. By morning they’ll be stuck together with tacky sweat, but Harry wriggles around until he can bury his head in Liam’s neck, breathing out shakily at he tries not to cry. Liam rubs his hand over Harry’s back until he goes quiet, warm breath ghosting over Liam’s skin.

-

Harry still looks wrecked in the morning, but at least his eyes are dry. He won't tell Liam what the fight was about and he looks so sad that Liam drops the subject without prying. Harry spends the entire day holed up in Liam's room, and it'd be like old times if not for the way Harry keeps checking his phone whenever he thinks Liam isn't looking.

-

Three days later, Harry and Louis get back together. Liam doesn’t pretend to understand.

-

It becomes a bad habit.

Harry and Louis fight all the time, heated whispering in the halls at school and screaming matches during parties that fuel gossip come Monday. Usually they make up the next day, all soft kisses and gentle touches that last a week or two before the cycle will repeat itself. Liam doesn't know what the fights are about, but there are plenty of rumors that circulate; everything from Louis being jealous and insecure to Harry being callously promiscuous.

Harry never acknowledges the rumors and Liam loyally follows his lead.

Every few months, Harry will show up at Liam’s door after a fight bad enough that they've called it quits again, drunk and crying. Liam lets him in every time, helpless to do anything else. He’ll coax Harry into gulping down a glass of water, bundle him under the covers and hold him close until his hitching breath slows.

By morning, Harry’s eyes will be bruised and puffy, his voice scratchy from crying. “I don’t know what to do, Liam,” he’ll say miserably. “I love him so much, but I can’t keep doing this.”

Liam never knows what to say, so he doesn't say anything at all.

 

 

 **track four: treacherous  
** _“ **nothing safe is worth the drive and i would follow you home”**_

 

Sundays still belong to Liam, even if Harry's Saturday nights are spent alternatively sucking Louis' face at some house party or sniffling into Liam's shoulder as they watch a film, curled up together on Liam's couch. Liam tries not to think about how Harry has compartmentalized his life, or all the parts of it that Liam's not a part of.

Harry and Louis are fighting again and Liam's honestly lost track if they're together or broken up. Harry is standing in front of Liam's mirror, lip bitten in concentration as he tries to pick out what to wear. He holds a black t-shirt up to his torso before throwing it away to pick up an identical shirt, only in white. Liam flips through a comic book, eyes skimming over the glossy pages without actually seeing anything.

“What do you think, Liam?” Harry asks. He's holding up the black t-shirt again. Or maybe it's a different black t-shirt? Liam can't tell.

“Looks fine, Haz.”

Harry frowns. “Don't want to look _fine_. I want to look _devastatingly handsome_. Will said there'd be some uni students at this party. Think how jealous I can make Lou.”

Ah, probably broken up then. Looks like Harry's going to fall back on his practiced strategy of making Louis jealous to get his attention. It's as petty as it is effective.

Harry tugs the shirt on, carefully arranging his fringe to fall across his forehead. He's hit a growth spurt recently, starting to grow into the gangly limbs that seem to trip him up more often than not. Liam watches as Harry leans forward to examine a spot on his face, the way the fabric of his shirt pulls across his still skinny shoulders.

He drops the comic book to the floor and rolls over on his bed to bury his face in his pillow.

A moment later, a finger pokes his cheek. Liam raises his head to glare at Harry. Harry grins back at him. “Sure you don't want to come, Li? Gonna be older girls there.” He winks theatrically.

“Won't notice me at all, once you walk into the room,” Liam says, only half-joking.

Harry tugs on Liam's hair just hard enough to hurt. “Please, Liam. Not with this curly mop. Girls go crazy for the curls. Believe me, I know.” His grin turns dirty and Liam nearly rolls his eyes.

“Been thinking about cutting it, actually.”

Harry's eyes widen in horror. “No, Liam! I admit, in hindsight, that telling you to straighten your hair was a poor choice-” Liam winces- “but even if you're totally copying me, I love your curls. Don't cut your hair. You look like a puppy.”

“A puppy,” Liam repeats flatly.

“Mmhmm,” Harry grins. “A golden retriever.”

“You're actually the worst.”

“But you love me,” Harry says with confidence. He fusses with his hair again and Liam swallows.

“Yeah. I'll go.”

Harry looks up in surprise. “Really?” His teeth flash in a wide grin.

-

Liam's not surprised when Harry disappears the moment they step through the door. He is surprised when Harry finds him again a few minutes later, two cups in hand. He hands one over to Liam, pressing his mouth close to Liam's ear to murmur that Liam needn't worry, its just coke.

“Thanks, Harry,” Liam answers, sipping slowly at the drink. Harry smiles at him like he's the only person in the room. It's been a long time since Liam's been on the receiving end of that smile.

The moment is shattered a few minutes later when Harry catches sight of something behind Liam's shoulder and his eyes narrow to dark slits. Liam turns to follow his gaze and sighs when he sees Louis, dancing on top of the coffee table, sandwiched between a guy and a girl Liam doesn't recognize.

Silently, Harry hands his mostly full drink over to Liam before pushing his way through the crowd. Liam sips at his coke again, eyeing Harry's drink with mistrust. He brings it to his nose and recoils at the overwhelming odor of vodka.

There's soft laughter in his ear and Liam turns his head, meeting a pair of big brown eyes framed with dark lashes.

“Not a fan of drinking?” the girl asks, lips curving up into a teasing smile.

Liam smiles shyly back. “That obvious?”

She wraps slim fingers around his bicep, tugging him down the hall. “Let me mix you something that doesn't taste like rubbing alcohol.”

“Last time someone told me that, I ended up with my head in a toilet,” Liam says without thinking.

The girl laughs again, throwing her head back in delight. The light catches on a thin silver necklace adorning her neck and Liam's eyes follow the path of the gleaming metal to where it disappears beneath her low-cut top. She pulls on his arm more insistently, eyes twinkling mischievously. “Better let me take care of you then, hmm?”

Liam follows her into the kitchen without looking back.

-

She tells him that her name is Danielle and makes him a drink that tastes like juice, but burns his throat on the way down. He gulps it down anyway and swears he can feel the alcohol in his blood stream, making the world fuzzy around the edges and chasing away the worst of his nerves.

When the kitchen gets too crowded, Danielle pulls him into the corner, pressed close so they can talk without shouting over the music. Her fingers keep finding their way into his hair, twining around his curls.

“Sorry,” she whispers breathlessly into his ear, untangling her hand. “It's just so _soft_.”

Like a golden retriever, Liam thinks. “I don't mind,” he says out loud. Danielle has mixed him two, or maybe three drinks. He feels loose, a reckless grin tugging at his lips. “Feels nice.”

She smiles back, and her eyes are so different from Harry's – different color, different shape – but the way they light up, the way she looks at Liam, like she sees something special, it's – it's not something he expected to see, twice in one lifetime.

Liam lets his fingertips skate across Danielle's waist, finds a patch of warm skin between her top and the waistband of her jeans. Danielle buries her fingers in his hair again, smiling brightly at him. He can feel his heart thudding in his throat and tries to swallow.

“Liam,” Danielle murmurs, leaning in so close her lips are nearly touching Liam's. “Wanna dance?”

“What? No, no I can't – I mean, I don't-”

Danielle is giggling again, pulling away from him. She grabs hold of his wrist, leading him out of the kitchen. Liam follows helplessly and Danielle throws him a grin over her shoulder. The living room is even more crowded than when they first arrived, bodies pulsing to the loud music. Liam has no idea what he's doing, carefully gripping Danielle's tiny waist as she wraps her arms around his neck.

“Just move,” she says into his ear, her hair tickling against his cheek. He can feel her hips moving against his in an easy rhythm and tries to follow her lead. His arms and legs feel heavy, weighed down with alcohol, but Danielle doesn't seem to mind. Her hands wander down his back, lingering cheekily on his arse, pressing him closer until they're chest to chest, hip to hip. She tucks her face into his neck, and Liam can feel the hot puffs of her breath against his sweaty skin.

He can't tell how long they dance, the music an endless progression of the same beat, one song bleeding into the next. Liam lets Danielle lead them, mostly just trying to not step on her toes and embarrass himself.

“Sorry,” he says, ducking his head down to talk directly into her ear. “'M a terrible dancer.”

She tips her head up to catch his eye. “Don't sell yourself short,” she shouts over the music. “You're a natural. Just need a bit of practice.”

His face scrunches into a smile and he cups Danielle's cheek with one hand, rubbing his thumb over her soft skin. “Yeah? You offering to help?”

She bites her lip in response, her gaze dropping to Liam's mouth for a few long seconds. Her eyes flick back up, dark and glittering in the dim lighting. “Lots of things I can help with,” she murmurs, and then her lips are catching against Liam's in a soft kiss. Liam's fingers tighten reflexively against the skin of her neck and it only takes his brain a second to catch up before he's kissing her back, heart thudding so loudly in his ears it drowns out the music.

Danielle pulls away before it gets too intense and Liam lets out a shaky breath.

“Your first kiss?” she asks gently.

He feels blood rush to his cheeks and can't blame it on the overheated room. “That obvious?”

Fingers still threaded through his hair, Danielle shakes her head. “No, babe. Told you, you're a natural.” Her grin turns soft. “You just seem so young, is all. Don't want to push you farther than you're willing to go, okay?”

“Okay,” Liam starts to say, but he's interrupted when someone slams into him, making him stagger a step or two out of Danielle's arms.

“Sorry,” a mess of limbs says from the floor, blinking up at them with wide, unfocused green eyes.

“Harry?” Liam asks in disbelief, immediately dropping to his knees. “How much have you had to drink, mate?”

He feels Danielle's hand briefly squeeze his shoulder and when he glances up, she gestures towards the kitchen and mimes taking a drink. He shoots her a grateful smile before refocusing back on Harry, who's still sat on the floor.

“C'mon, Haz. Up you get.” With a grunt, Liam grabs hold of Harry's arms, pulling him to his feet. Harry stumbles and nearly goes down again. It's only the arm Liam's got wrapped around him that keeps him up right.

“Li'm,” Harry slurs, “c'n we g'home? W'na,” he hiccups, 'w'na g'home.”

“Let's get you some water first, okay?” Harry's so drunk that he's got less coordination than a newborn deer, so Liam helps him into an empty armchair before making his way to the kitchen to pour Harry a cup of water. Danielle's already there, cup in hand. She hands it to Liam wordlessly.

“Sorry,” he says, “I just – he's my best mate, y'know?”

She leans forward, pressing a chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth. “You're a good friend, Liam.” Before he can pull away, she reaches into his pocket with nimble fingers, pulling out his phone. He watches with amusement as she enters her number into his phone, handing it back with a slow smile.

“Call me sometime?”

He beams. “Of course.”

-

It takes a lot of coaxing, but Liam gets Harry to drink the entire glass of water. He watches Liam with a sullen expression on his face; coupled with the amount he's had to drink and telltale lack of Louis, Liam guesses that they still haven't resolved things.

Harry's still not quite steady on his feet when they leave the party, and its a long walk home, especially when Harry stumbles every few steps. Their progress is halted when Harry sits down stubbornly at a bus stop and refuses to get up.

“C'mon, Harry,” Liam says tiredly. “It's late, I want to go to bed. The buses aren't running anymore, we gotta walk.”

“I saw you,” Harry says suddenly, accusation in his eyes as he pins Liam with a glare.

“You... what?”

“With _her,_ ” he adds darkly.

Liam frowns. “Danielle? What about her?”

Harry's mouth is still twisted in a pout. “You _kissed_ her.”

For a moment, Liam is stumped. “What the hell, Haz? You kiss people all the time. What's the big deal?”

“I...” Harry's mouth works soundlessly as he tries to figure out what to say. “It's not the same! You- you don't understand. You're _Liam_.”

He feels his hands clench into fists and has to force himself to relax. “And what the hell is that supposed to mean? I'm not good enough to snog anyone?”

“No.” Harry shakes his head stubbornly. “You're _too_ good. Y'deserve better. She can't – _she's_ not good enough.”

Liam rolls his eyes. “You don't even know her. How can you say that? Why can't you – look, can't you just be happy for me? That I finally found someone who wants to kiss me back?” He hopes Harry misses the way his voice cracks on the last words.

“Because she's not good enough!” Harry explodes, climbing to his feet and nearly toppling into Liam. He grips Liam's shoulder tightly, either to keep his balance or as leverage to yell directly into Liam's face. Liam can still smell the alcohol, strong on Harry's breath.

“Like you're one to talk,” he snaps. “You let Louis treat you like shit, make you fucking miserable. How many times am I gonna have to pick up the pieces before you learn your lesson, huh, Harry? How many times are you gonna let him break your heart?”

“Don't,” Harry warns. “Don't you bring Louis into this. It isn't – this isn't – it's not about him. It's about _you_ , and--”

“Shut up, Harry,” Liam growls, cutting him off. “You can't – you don't get a say, in who I kiss. You don't get to--”

This time its Harry who cuts Liam off by taking another uneven step closer. Liam tries to back up, but he hits the glass wall of the bus stop and can't retreat any further. Harry keeps coming, pressing close until they're chest to chest. They're the exact same height, so Harry doesn't need to duck his head when he leans in, just tilts his face to slant his lips over Liam's.

If kissing Danielle was like lighting sparklers on a hot summer night, a bright quick flash against the dark, then kissing Harry is like fireworks, filling the entire sky with a riot of color and sound, drowning out everything else. Harry kisses him hungrily, possessively, his mouth a hot, slick slide against Liam's.

They're both breathing hard when Harry pulls back, forehead resting against Liam's and fingers hot like a brand against his skin.

“Harry,” Liam whispers brokenly. Harry shakes his head, still pressed to Liam's, before stumbling back a few steps. He turns away from Liam, crumpling to his knees, and sicks up all over the pavement.

“Jesus, Haz,” Liam groans, helping Harry gently to his feet when he's done. Harry wipes the back of his hand over his mouth and lets Liam lead them home in silence.

By the time they make it home, the sky has lightened to a soft gray, dawn creeping up on the horizon. Liam coaxes another glass of water into Harry before he lets him collapse onto Liam's bed, still in his clothes. Shucking off his shirt and trousers, Liam climbs tiredly into bed after Harry, dropping off to sleep almost instantly despite the noise in his head.

-

When he wakes up hours later, he's alone in his bed. The sheets are still warm next to him, but Harry's window is closed, curtains pulled tight across.

 

 

 **track five: forever and always  
** _“ **it rains when you’re here and it rains when you’re gone”**_

 

There's a dull ache in Liam's temple, but it's not the worst hangover he's ever had. What's worse is the constricted feeling in his chest, a tightness around his lungs that makes it hard to breathe. Liam never thought that heartache could feel so literal.

He sits cross-legged on his bed, duvet bunched around his knees, and tosses his phone from one hand to the other. It's early afternoon, and Harry hasn't tried to reach him. Probably he's just sleeping it off – no doubt his hangover is ten times worse than Liam's – but Liam can't shake the feeling of apprehension weighing down on him as his eyes flick to Harry's curtained window.

Liam's thumb hovers over the call button on his phone, lip caught between his teeth as he hesitates. Even when _HarryandLiam_ became _HarryandLouis_ , Liam never once hesitated to call Harry when he needed him. He pushes down the feeling of doubt threatening to climb his esophagus and choke him, and presses down on the call button.

It rings three, four, five times before Harry's voicemail kicks in. Harry's probably still sleeping, then.

Liam doesn't leave a message.

-

Liam sleeps through his alarm after tossing and turning all night, so he's running late when he gets to school, barely enough time to shove his books into his locker before he slips into class. He's not got any of the same classes as Harry, so its lunch by the time he sees him.

Harry looks the same as he always does, although the bags beneath his eyes are darker than normal. He greets Liam with his usual smile before biting into an apple, juice dribbling down his chin. There's no sign of Louis anywhere, so he and Harry must still be fighting. Settling into the seat across from Harry, Liam pulls out his sandwich. The silence between them isn't uncomfortable, exactly, but Liam can't figure out how to fill it.

“So,” he says brightly after he's eaten half his sandwich and Harry has spent more time examining his cuticles than looking at Liam. “That was, um. Some party on Saturday, huh?”

Harry glances up, meeting Liam's gaze for the first time since he sat down. He smiles crookedly, tugging on his fringe almost nervously. “Yeah,” he finally replies. “Pretty wild, I think. Don't really remember much, if I'm being honest.”

Liam's sandwich turns to lead in his stomach. He carefully sets the uneaten half down on the table, wiping his suddenly sweaty palms against his trousers. “You, uh – really? What _do_ you remember?”

Screwing his face up like he's concentrating, Harry takes another bite of his apple. “Dunno,” he says around a mouthful. “Drinking a lot, dancing a lot.” He swallows. “Don't really remember how I got home. Think maybe you helped?”

“Yeah, I...” Liam trails off. “You were sick, on the pavement.”

Harry groans, dropping his face into his arms. “I was proper pissed,” he mumbles into his sleeve. “Made a right twat out of myself.”

“Yeah,” Liam says again, forcing out a laugh. They both ignore how awkward it sounds. “So, are you, like...”

“Hmm?” Harry asks, lifting his face far enough to look at Liam again.

Liam licks his lips with a tongue that feels too big for his mouth. “You and Louis,” he tries to clarify. “Are you guys, like...”

Shrugging, Harry reaches for a napkin. Liam watches as he rips it into steadily smaller pieces, making a snowy white mountain of shredded material on the tabletop. “Me 'n Louis are me 'n Louis,” he says, noncommittally.

“Right.” Liam gathers up the trash, his abandoned sandwich and Harry's apple core and the pile of napkin bits. He climbs out of his seat, heading towards the bins, when Harry's hand on his arm stops him. Glancing down, Liam's met with a sheepish smile.

“Thanks for helping me home, Li,” Harry says, sounding almost shy. “You're my best mate, y'know?”

Liam smiles back. “'Course, Haz. What are mates for?”

Seemingly satisfied with that answer, Harry drops his hand, letting Liam go.

-

A few days later, Louis plops down at their table like he never left, giggling into Harry's ear. Liam thinks he probably imagines the guilty look Harry shoots him.

He pulls out his phone, scrolls down his contact list until he reaches _Danielle xx_. He thumbs open a new text, tapping out a message with his thumbs. Biting his lip, he hesitates with his finger over the send button. Across the table, Louis appears to be sitting completely in Harry lap, mouth pressed to Harry's cheek in either a terrible effort at an actual whisper or an extremely public kiss.

Liam hits send, slipping his phone back in his pocket. Harry doesn't notice.

-

To keep up with his studies, Liam has to spend a ridiculous amount of time revising. School's never come easy to him, and it takes a lot of late nights in the library or sat at his desk in room, reading until his vision goes blurry.

He's just been busy. At least, that's what he tells himself when Saturday night rolls around a week or two later and Liam's flicking through the clothes in his wardobe, trying to find something to wear on his first date with Danielle. He carefully doesn't look out the window, at the glow of lamplight behind Harry's closed curtains. There's not been any _time_ to tell Harry about Danielle, is the thing. It's not like Liam's purposefully keeping it from him.

He ignores the guilty feeling eating away at his stomach as he pulls a shirt from his wardrobe, slipping it over his shoulders and fastening the buttons with fumbling fingers.

Liam spends too much time in front of the bathroom mirror, trying to arrange his unruly curls into something other than a complete bird's nest. It's a lost cause, but it doesn't stop his mum from fussing over him when he finally pads down the stairs, straightening his collar and smoothing back his fringe.

“Mum!” Liam protests, batting her hand away.

“Shush,” his mum scolds, tugging at his shirt again. “It's not everyday my baby boy goes on his first date, is it? It's a mum's duty to dote.”

“You're embarrassing me,” Liam complains, rubbing a palm over his hot cheeks.

His mum smiles, eyes a little watery. “I'm so proud of you, Liam,” she says.

“What, that I actually got a date?” The words come out a bit harsher than he meant and he suppresses the urge to wince.

“Don't be silly. Any girl would be lucky to date you.” With one final brush of her hands over his shoulders, she steps back, beaming. “I'm just glad you found someone else, sweetheart. I hope she makes you happy.”

Liam frowns. “What do you mean, found someone else?”

His mum blinks in surprise. “Besides Harry, I mean. You've been mooning over him ever since he started going with that Tomlinson boy. It's good to see you happy again.”

“I haven't – I'm not –“

“Oh, Liam,” his mum says. She leans in to kiss his cheek. “Have fun on your date. Ring me if you'll be out after eleven.”

There's not time to argue and Liam stumbles out the door, feeling wrong-footed and off balance.

-

He meets Danielle outside the cinema, buys them a popcorn to share and works up the nerve to hold her hand halfway through the movie. If she notices how clammy his palm is, she doesn't say, twining her fingers through his and settling them on the seat rest between them. Liam can't focus on the movie at all, distracted by the feeling of Danielle's silky skin against his, on carefully rubbing his thumb over her knuckles.

She shifts in her seat until she can rest her head against his shoulder, grabbing the bag of popcorn from his lap and placing it out of reach somewhere. Liam doesn't want to be rude, but he _was_ still eating, and he's about to ask if she could maybe move it back when she turns her face, lips skating across his jaw. _Oh._

Carefully, hardly daring to breathe, Liam angles himself towards her and then their mouths are connecting in a slow kiss. Danielle tastes a little salty, a hint of flavor from the popcorn. She reaches for his face with the hand not holding Liam's, rubbing her thumb over his cheek, and nips gently at his bottom lip. He gasps a little and she deepens the kiss, until Liam can't taste anything but Danielle.

In the dark of the theater, it's impossible to tell brown eyes from green. It's a little harder to ignore how small Danielle's hand is against his cheek, or the way his pulse throbs when he imagines broader fingers stroking over his skin, tangling in his hair.

-

By the time the credits roll, Liam's mouth feels bruised. He grins recklessly at Danielle, tugging her along by the hand. They walk down the street, their shadows dancing in the glow of streetlights.

Danielle pulls up short outside a cafe, twisting around until she's facing Liam.

“Okay,” she says, smiling mischievously. “Your answer to this next question is going to make or break this date.”

“Oh, good. No pressure, then.”

Squeezing his hand, she leans forward to whisper. “Do you like chocolate milkshakes?”

Liam scoffs. “What kind of question is that? 'Course I do. Everyone likes chocolate milkshakes.”

“You'd be surprised,” Danielle replies before turning towards the cafe and pulling him through the door. They split a shake, noses nearly bumping as they both sip from straws, kicking at each others feet beneath the table like schoolchildren. Danielle ends up with a bit of chocolate on her upper lip and Liam wipes it away with his thumb, grinning at the way her eyes sparkle.

It's perfect, exactly how Liam imagined a first date should go. He just wishes the twinge in his tummy felt more like butterflies and less like regret.

-

Liam slips through the front door at curfew, expecting the house to be dark and quiet. The soft bang of a cupboard door shutting catches his attention and after kicking off his shoes, Liam pads on socked feet to the kitchen. His mum is leaning against the counter, glancing away from the kettle towards Liam.

“There's plenty, if you want a cup,” she offers, gesturing towards the kettle.

“Sure,” Liam agrees, sinking into a kitchen chair. His mum doesn't push him for details about his date, and he's too grateful to question her lack of curiosity. There's an easy silence between them as the water finally starts boiling and his mum fixes Liam's tea just the way he likes, sliding a steaming mug towards him.

Sipping at her own tea, she finally breaks the quiet. “Harry stopped by earlier.” The words are casual, a nonchalant tone as if she's discussing the weather.

“Oh?” Liam hums, taking a gulp of tea. It's still a bit hot, nearly burning his tongue.

“Said he had something he wanted to talk to you about.”

Guiltily, Liam glances down at his phone. There's nothing, though, no missed calls or texts.

“I'll talk to him tomorrow,” Liam says. His mum smiles at him, setting her empty mug near the sink and ruffling Liam's hair before she disappears upstairs to bed.

Liam drinks his own tea so slowly it goes cold by the time he finishes.

-

He tries to call Harry the next day, but it goes straight to voicemail. It's not like Harry to have his phone off, and there's no sign of life behind his dark curtains. Liam figures he can track Harry down at school, but when Monday rolls around, he's suspiciously absent.

It's mid-morning before Liam hears the first whisper, but by lunch he's more or less got the story pieced together. Another party, another blow-out fight between Harry and Louis. This one apparently ended with Louis throwing his drink in Harry's face, which is a first, as far as Liam knows.

At lunch, Louis is sitting in his usual haunt when he and Harry are broken up, or fighting, or otherwise not together, crowing so loudly about something that Liam can hear him clear across the cafeteria.

Liam, for his part, sits alone at his table, eyes on his sandwich. He keeps his phone on the table, but there's nothing but radio silence from Harry.

-

On Tuesday, Harry returns to school with no explanation for his absence. There was a time when Liam would ask, would push for an answer, because best mates don't keep secrets. There was a time, he thinks sadly, where he wouldn't have to ask, because Harry would have already told him, green eyes glittering like a sky full of stars.

So Liam doesn't push, and Harry doesn't budge, and what once felt like a rift between them feels suddenly like a canyon, gaping and insurmountable. They're still mates, of course, sitting together at lunch, but when Harry shows up faithfully at Liam's door every Sunday, it feels more like the comfort of a familiar habit than anything else.

Liam goes on three more dates with Danielle, gets his hand up her top and then in her knickers. He finds himself panting hotly against the skin of her neck when she slips her hand beneath his waistband, narrow fingers wrapping around his cock, but whenever he closes his eyes, all he can see is green-ringed pupils and too-red lips, stretched wide in a smile.

When Danielle gets an internship in the city and decides to transfer to another university, Liam agrees they're too young to try the long-distance thing with a feeling like relief. She presses a lingering kiss to the corner of his mouth and he promises to call if he's ever in town, and it should hurt, he thinks, breaking up with his first real love.

It's _supposed_ to hurt.

-

Danielle has been gone for a few weeks and Harry is more fidgety than normal, fussing with his fringe and the hem of his shirt, tapping a pen against the open page of his book nervously and driving Liam up the wall.

“Harry,” Liam says, for the fifth time. “Calm down, would you?”

“Sorry,” Harry says immediately, pen stilling. The quiet lasts for all of 45 seconds before he starts up again. Liam looks up at the ceiling, taking deep breaths so he doesn't snap.

“Harry. Pack it in,” he bites out anyway.

Harry starts, shooting Liam an apologetic look. “Sorry,” he says again. “I just...”

“Hmm?” Liam hums, not looking away from his maths. He frowns down at the page, but no matter how long he stares, it still doesn't make sense.

“Nothing,” Harry says.

Glancing up, Liam raises a brow. “You sure?”

“Yeah.” Harry smiles crookedly, but it looks worn, almost strained. “Just, like,” he licks his lips. “No matter what happens, you're my best mate. You know that, Li?”

“Of course,” Liam says automatically, easy as a habit.

 

 

 **track six:** **last kiss  
** _“ **i don’t know how to be something you miss”**_

 

What hurts the most, Liam will think later, is that he had to find out from his mum.

He's eating cereal, trying to figure out if he can dump out the soggy bits without his mum noticing, when she says offhandedly, “Anne says it'll be on telly tonight, so make sure you finish your homework early.”

“What'll be on tonight?” Liam asks, turning his spoon over and watching a tiny waterfall of milk spill back into his bowl.

“Don't play with your food,” his mum scolds. “Harry's audition.”

Liam drops his spoon into the bowl with a loud clang, milk splattering everywhere. “His what?”

“For the X-factor. Didn't he say...” she trails off at the look on Liam's face. “Oh, sweetheart. You didn't know?”

“No, I...” Liam swallows, forces himself to smile. “Been busy all term, and with Danielle, we didn't – probably slipped his mind, y'know?”

He stands up abruptly, pushing his chair back with a clatter. “I'm gonna – I need to -” he can't figure out how to finish the sentence, so he deposits his half-finished bowl into the sink and nearly runs up the steps, shutting himself in his bedroom.

-

He very nearly doesn't watch, but in the end he creeps back down the steps, slipping into the living room and leaning back against the wall, where he can see the telly but his mum and sisters can't see him. The episode is nearly twenty minutes in before they get to Harry, and at the sight of his beaming smile, Liam feels his heart twist sharply in his chest.

“'M Harry, 'm 17, and I'm from Cheshire,” he tells the judges with a cheeky grin, looking at home up on the stage. Liam watches with fingers clenched tightly in the fabric of his trousers as Harry gets three yeses, hugs his mum and sister tightly just off the stage. When the camera cuts to the next contestant, Liam retreats back to his room, closing the door behind him with a quiet click.

He stalks across his room, grabbing hold of the cord to snap his blinds shut, but not before he sees that Harry's whole house is shrouded in darkness. Wherever the Styles family is watching the show, it isn't at home.

Liam's just flopped across his mattress, pulling his duvet up over his head like he's six and there's a storm raging outside, when his phone buzzes with a text. He almost ignores it, but it keeps buzzing, and he realizes it's not a text, but a call. Rolling over with a groan, Liam grabs for the phone. He almost drops it when he sees the name flashing across the screen, but forces himself to answer right before it goes to voicemail.

“Hello?”

“Liam.” Harry sounds breathless, with excitement or nerves, Liam can't tell.

“Hi,” Liam says, a bit stiffly. He can hear Harry breathing down the line, the sound low and intimate in his ear.

“You saw,” Harry guesses.

“My mum told me.”

Liam can picture the face Harry is no doubt making, contrite and bashful. “I should have told you,” Harry whispers like a confession. “I'm sorry, Liam. I just...”

A pause. A gulf between them.

“Just what?” Liam prompts, hating the quiet, hating the distance, hating the way Harry's breathing stutters.

“I wish you were here.”

The words hang between them for a long moment. Liam squeezes his eyes shut, biting back a dozen retorts. _You should have told me. You shouldn't have shut me out. Why did you go without me?_

He doesn't voice any of them.

“Me too, Haz,” he says quietly.

-

Harry's not allowed to tell him much with all the non-disclosure agreements he's signed, but he makes a point to text Liam at least once a day, usually a stupid joke he's heard or a complaint about how annoying one of the other contestants is. It's only on Sundays, when Harry steals away from everyone to find a quiet corner to ring Liam, that he voices all his worries and doubts.

“Some of the lads here, Liam, they're like... like unreal talented. Don't have the first idea what I'm doing, to be honest.”

“You did something right, to make it through the first audition,” Liam points out. He saw the clip of the massive crowd queuing to audition. Harry's already made it father than Liam ever would have.

Harry laughs humorlessly. “It's just so – it was a whim, really, that first audition. But being in front of the judges, and being here at bootcamp... it's real, Liam. It's so real, and I can't – dunno what I'll do, if I have to go home, after this.”

Swallowing thickly, Liam takes a minute to consider his answer. Harry was always meant for bigger things, he thinks. Bigger than this town, bigger than that narrow slice of sky they used to sit and watch when they were kids, counting stars. Bigger than Liam.

“I'm not worried,” he says at last. “You're gonna smash it, Haz. Just like you always do.”

-

And he does.

Liam watches every week, sitting on the edge of the couch and then pacing restlessly behind it when he can't keep still. A troupe of boys files across the stage at bootcamp, hands clasped nervously in front of them as Simon Cowell himself announces, “Congratulations, you've made it to the next round.” Harry drops to his knees in relief and Liam knows he won't get the text until later, but pulls out his phone all the same and types out _told you so xx_.

The stakes get higher at the judges' houses, and Liam watches the drama play out with his heart in his throat, feeling like he's there with Harry, instead of miles and miles away, sat on his mum's couch. He watches through the gaps in his fingers, hands pressed to his face, as Harry belts out his song, standing poolside in front of the impassive group of judges. Their faces give nothing away as Harry finishes singing, his smile wide and nervous in the long pause before they give the verdict.

“I'm going with my heart,” Simon says. “You're through.”

Liam whoops loudly, grabbing his mum by the arms to do an impromptu victory dance. He ignores the uncomfortable tug in his gut, the little voice that reminds him that Harry's living their dream without him, that Harry left him behind.

Liam is Harry's best mate. It's petty and mean to be jealous. Liam's happy for him.

He _is_.

-

The live shows start about a month into school, so Liam catches the worst of the gossip. Now that Harry's a proper star, singing on national television each week, it's all anyone can talk about.

It makes Liam feel possessive and ornery when he overhears snatches of conversation, about how fit Harry is or his stupid green eyes or his bloody curls. It was hard enough sharing Harry with Louis, or the parade of girls who came before him, but it's another level, hearing complete strangers gush on about him, or seeing Harry's face splashed across the newspaper.

The longer Harry survives the live shows, the more his fame spreads beyond the rolling hills and endless fields of Holmes Chapel. He and another bloke are both clear favorites, blowing the judges away week after week and attracting a legion of screaming fangirls.

It's all a bit mad and Harry sounds dazed by it all when he sneaks away to call Liam. He can never talk for long, always being rushed to rehearsal or vocal coaching or whatever activity they've got lined up for the contestants to film the behind the scenes extras.

Harry's telling some rambling story about a food fight that broke out in the contestants' shared kitchen when another voice interrupts.

“Who're ya talkin' to, Haz?” The words are a little muffled, like whoever's talking is too far from the phone, but Liam can still make them out.

“Fuck off, Zayn,” Harry replies cheerfully.

“Oohh,” Liam hears Zayn say, voice still too far away, “Are ya talkin' to a _lady_?”

Harry laughs, bright and delighted. “Awfully interested in my romantic life, aren't ya?” He's using the cheeky tone he adopts when he's trying to charm his way out of trouble, or into it. Liam's seen Zayn's performances on the telly – he's Harry's main competition, has a wicked voice and scarily symmetrical face – and Liam doesn't need to be a rocket scientist to guess where this is going.

“I gotta go, Harry,” he says. “My mum's calling me.” It's a lie, but Harry's too distracted to call him out on it.

“Talk to you next week?” Harry asks, already sounding far away. Liam can still hear Zayn's teasing voice in the background.

“Yeah, okay.” He hesitates. “Be careful, all right?”

Harry laughs. “Always worried, Li.”

Liam swallows back the words he wants to say, _because you're reckless, Harry, you wear your heart on your sleeve and what are you gonna do if I'm not there to pick up the pieces when it breaks?_

“Everyone back home is voting for you,” he says instead, playing it safe.

Harry sounds fond. “Can always count on you, Liam.”

Isn't that the truth, Liam thinks a little bitterly.

-

Zayn and Harry are supposed to be competing against each other, but you wouldn't know it from watching the show. Liam would suspect they're playing it up for the camera – their legions of fans seem to eat it up, all the flirting and lingering touches – but Harry gushes on and on about Zayn during their weekly chats, about how _cool_ and _funny_ and _nice_ he is.

Liam doesn't tell him to be careful again, even though he recognizes the signs of Harry falling too hard, too fast. He just tells Harry that he'll be here whenever Harry needs him. He's helpless to do anything else.

They carefully skate over the topic of Louis, though Liam suspects there will be no reunion between them, this time. As if he can sense that he's not the center of attention, Louis corners him one day in the snack aisle at Tesco's, where Liam had been deep in thought, weighing the pros and cons of buying Quavers verses Doritos.

“Liam,” Louis says, arms crossed over his chest. He's got a shopping basket in hand that appears to be filled with four boxes of frozen waffles. It seems a bit excessive to Liam, but then he's never really been able to figure Louis out.

“Louis,” he replies, turning away from the selection of crisps. He has a feeling this is going to need all of his attention.

Louis deflates a bit, licking his lips nervously like he hadn't expected it'd be that easy to get Liam's attention. “I just, um. You're probably the only person who, like, gets it.” His eyes flick towards the end of the aisle where there's a selection of gossip tabloids, Harry's wide-eyed gaze staring out at them. It's surreal.

“Oh. Um, yeah,” Liam offers eloquently.

Shifting his basket from one arm to the other, Louis rolls his eyes, but it looks almost fond. “I'm not, like, trying to be best mates with you or anything. I know we--” he takes a deep breath. “Look, I was a jealous twat, all right? I tend to get a bit possessive anyway, and Harry, he... well, you know.”

Liam knows.

“So I just wanted to say, like. If you ever want to, I dunno, play a bit of footie, or something, with someone who isn't going to blab on and on about him, or ask you what it's like, seeing him on the X-Factor, well. You know where to find me.”

Liam realizes, suddenly, what it must be like, to be standing in Louis' shoes right now, watching your ex-boyfriend blatantly come on to someone else and knowing that everyone else can see it too.

“Yeah, I... that sounds great. Thanks, Louis.”

“Whatever,” Louis says, turning to walk away, but not before Liam sees his lips twitch. He's barely taken five steps before Liam is opening his mouth, blurting out, “What were you even jealous of?”

Turning back, Louis raises his brow. “Don't you know? We dated for a _year_ , Liam, and all he could talk about was you.” He smiles then, all pointy, vicious teeth. “Who knows? Maybe now he's telling Zayn about both of us.”

This time when he walks away, Liam lets him. He thinks maybe he gets it. Liam draws in to himself when he feels exposed, like he can protect the vulnerable parts of himself if he puts up enough walls. Louis lashes out, using his words like weapons to hurt someone else before they can hurt him.

They'll probably never be best mates, but Liam's always enjoyed a good kickabout.

-

When Harry gets eliminated, his face falls as fast as Liam's heart. Zayn is there on stage to wrap him up in a hug and Harry buries his face into Zayn's neck, clinging tightly. Liam's not sure what happens after that because he can't sit still, jumping off the couch and letting himself out into the garden. The lights are on next door and even though Liam's sure Anne is already calling him to leave a comforting voice message, Liam pulls out his own phone, scrolling through his contacts until he reaches Harry's name.

It rings five times before going to voicemail. “Dunno when you'll get this,” Liam says. “But I'm so proud of you, Harry. Third place is incredible, and you – god, I always knew you were gonna be a star, y'know? This is just the beginning for you. You'll see. Call me later, okay? Love you, Haz.”

Slipping his phone back into his pocket, Liam draws his knees up to his chest, wrapping his arms around them. He can only see a handful of stars from here, and none of them shine as brightly as Harry.

 

 

 **track seven:** **the lucky one  
** _“ **another name goes up in lights, like diamonds in the sky”**_

 

Liam's right. He gets a call from an excited, babbling Harry barely a few days later, tripping over his words as he gushes to Liam that Simon's agreed to sign him onto his label and he'll get to record his own album and _can you even believe it, Liam?_

It's not surprising in the slightest, because Liam _knew_ , he knew Harry was meant for this life, that he couldn't be contained on a dingy stage in a small town, singing in some school production. He just – he didn't think it would happen so fast, or that Liam would be left sitting alone in his room, looking through faded bunny rabbit curtains at Harry's darkened window.

-

The label puts Harry up in a little flat in London, and the next thing Liam knows, Harry's texting him from the recording studio, calling him whenever he gets the chance with some wild story about another celebrity he's met. Liam's own updates on his life are a lot more mundane. He's doing his A levels, working after school as a shelf-stacker for some extra money, waiting for his life to begin.

He's shelving endless boxes of pasta one day when a costumer knocks against the magazine rack, spilling glossy pages all over the floor.

“No, no, don't worry about it,” Liam reassures, already kneeling down to scoop up the mess. He's made a point to avoid looking at the tabloids as much as possible, still not used to the shock whenever he sees Harry's face plastered across the cover. It doesn't happen all the time, but enough that he drops his eyes whenever he has to walk past.

Apparently, he's being doing an ace job of keeping his head in the sand, because the screaming title catches him totally off guard. _X-FACTOR HEARTTHROB CAUGHT IN LOVE TRIANGLE_. Beneath the bold words is a picture of Harry, looking glassy-eyed outside of some ritzy club, and equally drunk Zayn next to him along with a third person Liam doesn't recognize. All three of them have their arms around each other, Harry's face turned to press a smacking kiss against the bloke's cheek while Zayn watches them with dark eyes. Hastily, Liam shoves the offending rag back onto the rack and retreats to his pasta.

Harry's told him time and time again, with laughter in his voice, that the tabloids are utter bollocks and that Liam shouldn't believe a word of them. And Liam's not naive, all right, he knows better than to believe the lies. But Harry's confessed to Liam that he and Zayn hooked up a few times during the X-Factor, even if he's usually coy about what kind of relationship they have now, and Liam wonders, not for the first time, how many of the stories about Harry have a grain of truth in them.

Not that it matters. Liam will always take Harry's word. It's what friends are for, after all.

-

Liam wakes up from a dead sleep one night to the incessant buzzing of his phone. It vibrates itself right off his table and onto the floor, where it keeps up the racket. Groaning, Liam reaches down with a fumbling hand to grab it. His eyes feel gritty because he was up late revising, but there's no way his alarm is going off already.

Blearily, he blinks at the screen and sees a familiar name flashing across the screen. Of course.

“Harry,” he says, voice rough from sleep. “It's three 'n the mornin'. Why're you callin'?”

“Sorry!” Harry whispers. He doesn't sound sorry. He sounds giddy and excited, like a little kid. “Didn't realize it was so late. Liam, guess what!”

“What?”

“No, Liam, you have to guess.”

“Harry,” Liam groans, eyes slipping shut. “It's bloody 3am. I've got school in the morning. 'M not playing guessing games with you.”

On the other end of the line, Liam can _hear_ Harry pout. He really is an overgrown toddler. “Fine,” Harry huffs. “Then I won't tell you my good news.”

“Okay,” Liam agrees sleepily. “Night, Haz.”

“ _Liam_! Fine, fine, I'll just tell you, since you're being no fun.”

Liam grunts.

“'M gonna be on the Breakfast Show!” Harry crows triumphantly. “With _Nick Grimshaw_. Can you even believe?”

“'S shocking. I'm shocked.”

“You're gonna listen, aren't you?” Harry presses. “When I'm on the show?”

Even half-asleep, Liam can hear the underlying worry in Harry's voice. “Yeah, Haz, 'course I will. But I need to sleep now, okay?”

Seemingly satisfied by Liam's reassurance, Harry rings off, murmuring a soft good night in Liam's ear. Dropping his phone back onto the table, Liam rolls over and tugs his duvet up to his chin. He still feels exhausted, but it takes him a long time to fall back asleep.

-

He's all but forgotten about his conversation with Harry until he gets a jarring reminder in the most unlikely place a few days later. He and Louis are kicking a footie around in an empty field after school. They don't talk much, the memory of Harry like a wedge between them, but out here on the pitch it's different. Louis is fiercely competitive, quick where Liam is strong, and they're fairly evenly matched.

After about an hour, when Louis has beaten Liam 6-2 and Liam admits, if only to himself, that they are less evenly matched than he'd like, Louis calls an end to their game. They flop down onto the grass to catch their breath and Liam is already eyeing the changing room hopefully, tugging at his sweat-soaked collar, when Louis announces, apropos of nothing, “I'm boycotting the Breakfast Show. You in?”

Still lying on the ground, Liam lolls his head until he can catch Louis' stubborn gaze. “Any particular reason?”

Louis sniffs. “Think they need to up their standards. Grimmy'll interview any bum off the street. It's despicable.”

“I'm still friends with him, you know,” Liam says mildly.

“Yeah, well. You were always the bigger man, weren't you?” He sits up, pushing up off the grass to his feet until he's standing over Liam, blocking the late afternoon light so it rings his head like a halo.

“You ever want to get over him, let me know. I'll take you out with some mates of mine, show you a good time.”

“Oh, no, I'm not...”

Louis grins sharply. “You can lie to yourself, Liam Payne. But I've been there, remember? I know.” He scoops the ball off the ground with his foot, keeping it up with a series of knee taps. Typical Louis, really, to hide a moment of vulnerability by showing off.

“I'm sure I don't know what you mean,” Liam says, and Louis kicks the ball directly at his junk. It's only his quick reflexes that save him from a childless future.

-

“Let's welcome our next guest, Harry Styles from the X-Factor! Hello, Harry. How are you?”

“'M very well, thank you.”

Harry's voice is slow and gravelly as it always is, but Liam can hear the nerves, even through the scratchy static. He bunches his pillow under his head, staring up at the ceiling as Nick Grimshaw coaxes answers out of Harry.

“And you got up this early, just to call into the show?”

“No, no, I was already up.”

“Okay. You're a liar. You're such a liar,” Nick teases. “So how are you Harold, what's happening?”

“Uh, at the moment, recording the album.”

They chat idly about Harry's debut album, his backup career options as an intern for Nick if it tanks, and Liam feels something loosen when Harry laughs at Nick's jokes.

It tightens right back up a second later at Nick's next question. “So, Harry, I've got to ask – you and Zayn Malik. Salacious gossip about your relationship during the X-Factor. Are you able to confirm or deny that you were more than friends?”

“Um,” Harry says, breath escaping in a quiet laugh. “Zayn's a lovely bloke.”

Nick sounds amused. “You heard it first here, folks. He's a lovely bloke. So talk to me, Harry. We're gonna play your new song. You--”

Abruptly, Liam shuts off the radio. He reaches for his phone, shooting off a text with trembling fingers.

Barely a minute later, his phone buzzes with a response. Somehow, Liam isn't surprised that Louis is awake right now.

_Knew you'd come around. Gonna have such a good night, you wont remember his name by morning_

-

It's – weird, being out with Louis. Liam isn't sure that they're even mates, really, and a small, guilty part of him is relieved that when he shows up to the club Louis texted him the address to, Louis is actually there to meet him. Inside, the music is so loud that Liam can _feel_ the beat, pulsing in the floor beneath his feet, making his head pound. He follows Louis through the crowd to where Louis' mates have already gathered and offers up introductions so quickly that Liam manages not to catch anyone's name.

Someone pushes a drink into his hand, though, and after downing half of it, Liam doesn't feel so on edge. He glances around and realizes that Louis has already disappeared, and this, at least, is something Liam is used to. Slowly, he sips at his drink, watching the throng of people dancing and berating himself every time he takes a double look when he spots a head of dark, unruly hair.

He's taken completely by surprise when Louis detaches from the crowd, walking up to Liam and leaning in to shout over the music, “the fuck are you doing? Finish your drink! Didn't drag you to a fucking club so you could stand on the sidelines, christ.”

He taps at the bottom of Liam's glass until he tilts it up, chugging the rest of his drink down and coughing a bit when it gets caught in his throat. Liam's barely managed to wipe away the few drops that have dribbled less than attractively from his lips before Louis is grabbing his wrist, tugging him towards the mass of writhing bodies and shoving him into the crowd.

“Dance!” he orders. “And don't come back until you've pulled.”

Liam doesn't have time to explain that he doesn't know _how_ to pull before he's swallowed up by the crowd. It's easy, then, to let himself be pulled along, moving with the tight press of bodies surrounding him. It's not long before a pair of anonymous hands find their way around his waist, and someone's thigh is slotted between his legs. Liam can't even tell if it's the same person, and it makes his head swim even more than the drink he downed.

He can't tell how long he stays out on the dance floor, but eventually the crowd fades back a bit until he's dancing with one person, big hands gripping his hips tightly, encouraging Liam to grind his arse back. It takes Liam a moment to realize that he's grinding back against a _bloke_ , that he can feel the guy's hard-on against his arse, his broad chest pressed to Liam's back. It's dizzying, how good it feels, and when the guy spins him around until they're facing each other, catching Liam's mouth in a messy kiss, Liam shivers at the scrape of rough stubble against his face.

He nearly whines when the bloke pulls away, but then he leans into whisper hotly in Liam's ear that they could take this to the toilets. Liam doesn't even know the bloke's name, and his face flushes hotly at the thought of messing around in the toilets, but it's – it should be disgusting, but Liam is so turned on he can't think straight.

He lets himself be lead off the dance floor, giggling nervously as the bloke shoulders open a stall for them. It's completely obvious what they're up to, but when the bloke presses him back against the door to kiss him breathless, Liam can't find it in himself to be embarrassed.

He's got enough sense left to shove a fist in his mouth to muffle the noises when the bloke unbuttons his flies, wanking him off with a practiced hand. It turns out to be the best decision Liam's made all night, because no one but him knows the garbled shout he lets out when he comes, spilling over the bloke's fist, is Harry's name.

 

 

 

**[side b]**

 

 **track eight: holy ground  
** _“ **i guess we fell apart in the usual way”**_

 

The release of Harry's debut album coincides almost perfectly with Liam's first day of uni.

Liam's sure the record shop back in Holmes Chapel is plastered with posters of Harry's smiling face, hometown pride and all that, but he doesn't catch even a glimpse of familiar green eyes as he pushes open the door to a music store near campus, a little bell jingling merrily.

“Hullo, welcome to Blizzard's Records!” a voice calls out. It takes Liam a moment to locate the source, but then he spots a tuft of bright blonde hair peeking over the edge of the counter. The guy stands up after a second, smiling brightly at Liam and dusting his knees off from where he was knelt down behind the counter. “Looking for anything in particular?”

The guy looks friendly enough, but this seems like the sort of shop that specializes in rare vinyls, not up-and-coming pop stars, and Liam's not up for feeling judged.

He clears his throat. “No, I'm just, uh, browsing.”

“All right, mate. Lemme know if ya need somethin', yeah?”

Offering a polite smile in return, Liam turns to wander around the store. He's hoping to find a section with new releases, or at least the S section for _Styles, Harry_ , but the more he looks around, the more confused he gets. Nothing is sorted by date, or by genre, or even alphabetically.

This is the closest music shop to campus, though, and Liam doesn't fancy taking a twenty minute bus ride just to buy Harry's bloody album. Especially not after he made a big fuss about Harry not sending him a copy in advance.

(“Seriously, Liam, you're my best mate. I trust you not to leak it.”

“I don't want any special favors, Haz! I'm not taking advantage of you just 'cause we're friends.”

“You're bloody ridiculous, Liam. You're not taking advantage of me. I'm _offering_.”

“Nope. I'm going to buy it. How else will you get to number one on the charts?”

“Bloody. Ridiculous.”)

Approaching the counter, Liam clears his throat. Blondie looks up, mouth tilting up into a grin when he sees Liam. “Change your mind?”

“Yeah, I uh... bit confused, actually, about how everything's sorted?”

The grin gets bigger. “Everyone is, the first time they come in. C'mon, it's actually quite logical.” He leads Liam over to a random row and starts explaining his one-of-a-kind filing system. He's halfway into his spiel when a bloke as big as a tree trunk steps out of the back room.

“Niall, why are ya talkin' that poor kid's ear off? Just help him find what he's looking for. No one can understand your feckin' system.”

Niall takes a deep breath. “Brez. How many times do I have 't explain it 't ya? It's simple. You just--”

Brez cuts him off. “Ignore this one. Thinks he's some kind of savant, moving shit around in here, only it doesn't make sense to anyone else.”

“Um. Okay?”

“Actually, Bressie is the one you should ignore,” Niall says cheerfully, shoving at Bressie's arm. As Niall is half his size, it's not very effective. It mostly looks like Niall is trying to push over a particularly stubborn tree. “Anyway,” he continues, undeterred by the lack of reaction from Bressie. “What were ya lookin' for? Promise ya, I can find it in two seconds.”

“Harry Styles' album?” It comes out like a question and Liam winces, waiting for Niall's eyebrows to climb his forehead in judgment. Instead, Niall just grins wider.

“Ohhh, have you heard it yet? It's sick, mate.” Niall bustles off down a random aisle, stopping halfway down to rifle through a row of CD's and triumphantly holds up Harry's album not a minute later. He presents it to Liam with a flourish while Bressie rolls his eyes, disappearing back into the backroom.

“Thanks,” Liam offers meekly, following Niall to the register so he can ring him up. “I've heard most of the tracks, but not the whole thing.”

“Mark my words, mate, Harry Styles is gonna be huge,” Niall says with authority. “Watched him on the X-Factor 'n I was _gutted_ when he got eliminated. Big fan of Zayn Malik too, though, if I'm bein' honest. If Harry couldn't win, 'm glad it was Zayn.”

Liam doesn't know how to tell Niall that he's mates with Harry without sounding like a prat, so he silently hands over a few wrinkled notes and smiles politely while Niall counts out his change, keeping up a stream of dialogue that doesn't seem to require a response from Liam. It's sort of nice, actually. Almost like having a friend.

“So, are ya a student, then?” Niall asks, handing Liam his receipt.

Liam takes it, shoving it into his pocket. “Er, yeah.”

“Legend! Hey, there's a pub not too far from here – The Whitmore, have ya heard of it? Anyway, they've got open mic nights every Thursday.” Niall jerks his thumb over his shoulder and Liam's eyes follow the motion, landing on a poster promising local talent and good tunes. “You should come,” Niall continues, like he hasn't met Liam all of ten minutes ago.

“Oh, well, I mean...”

Niall waggles his eyebrows. “Who knows, mate? The next Harry Styles could be discovered there!”

Gripping his newly purchased album with white-knuckled fingers, Liam ignores the way his smile suddenly feels brittle enough to crack. “I'll think about it, yeah? Thanks.”

“No problem. Come back anytime. Can recommend you some sick tunes!” Niall promises as Liam walks out the door, bell jingling over head.

-

By Thursday night, Liam is already overwhelmed with the amount of coursework he's gotten from his first week and feeling incredibly homesick. He tries to make pasta and it all goes a bit pear shaped. By the time he manages to crack open a window and dispel the worst of the smoke, he's managed to piss off most of neighbors with the incessant beeping of his smoke detector. It only makes sense to make a tactical retreat.

Liam hasn't made any new friends yet and the thought of going to the library is nearly as bad as staying in his smokey flat. Pulling on a jumper, Liam decides to take a stroll around campus, maybe try to find a curry house for his growling stomach. He doesn't make it more than a few blocks before a couple of drunk kids stumble out of a pub in front of him, the sounds of laughter and music following them out the door before it swings shut.

Liam catches a familiar poster taped up in the window and smiles despite himself. Of course he managed to find his way to Niall's pub. He could go for a pint and maybe some chips, listen to some music that doesn't remind him of everything that's currently wrong with his life.

Pulling open the door, Liam takes a step inside and freezes in place. His life is actually a joke.

The pub's crowded, almost rowdy, but almost everyone's attention is focused towards the back, where Liam assumes the stage, or at the very least, mic stand is set up. He can't actually see who's performing, too many people in the way, but the song is unmistakable, despite the acoustic guitar backing the lyrics instead of synthetic beats.

It's Harry's first single.

Liam feels frozen to the spot. He wants to retreat, to turn around and forget he never stepped foot inside this stupid pub. It's one thing to listen to Harry's album in the privacy of his own room, to lose himself in Harry's raspy voice and pretend it's not just distance separating them. It's quite another to be assaulted like this in public, caught completely off guard. Whoever's singing sounds nothing like Harry, voice clear and sweet to Harry's gravelly tone, but it's like the echo of Harry's voice is playing in his head, a record stuck on repeat.

He's managed to take a shuffling step towards the door when the song comes to an end, the last notes fading out to raucous applause. “Thanks!” the singer quips. “I'll be here all week!”

It earns him a ripple of laughter, and Liam realizes with a start that it was Niall up there, performing Harry's song. The realization propels him forward, pushing through the crowd until he spots Niall's blonde head, already caught in conversation with someone near the bar.

Liam pulls up short, feeling awkward, but Niall glances over and catches his eye. He grins excitedly and beckons Liam over, clapping him on the shoulder once Liam's within range.

“Hey, mate, you made it! What'd ya think? Told ya Styles' album was sick, didn't I?”

“Yeah, you mentioned it.” Now that he's here, talking to Niall, Liam has no idea what he's doing. He should go home, burn Harry's CD, maybe take the batteries out of the smoke detector first, and--

“What are ya drinkin', then? C'mon, next round's on me,” Niall offers, arm snaking around Liam's shoulder to pull him closer to the group. Niall's mates start shouting drink orders at him and Niall laughs. “Oi, shut it, you lot, want you 't meet someone. Everyone, this is...” he trails off, grin turning a bit self-depreciating. “Don't think you've actually told me your name.”

“Liam,” Liam says.

“Everyone, this is Liam. Liam, everyone.”

Liam waves a little awkwardly, but no one seems to notice. Niall squeezes Liam before dropping his arm, turning to the bartender to order and sliding a drink into Liam's hand a moment later.

He doesn't expect to stay any longer than it takes to politely finish his drink, but being around Niall is like – it's easy, effortless like it's only ever been with Harry. There's no spark, no tug in his tummy, like there was with Danielle, and that's even better, Liam decides.

He doesn't need more heartache. He needs a friend.

-

Liam feels like a kid running alongside a train, legs pumping to keep up as the engine pulls away from the station, but it's a wasted effort. He's left behind, watching the train race towards the horizon while he goes nowhere fast.

Thursday nights at the pub become a thing with Niall and his mates. Liam always tags along, cheering loudly for Niall and nursing a pint or two as the night wears on. He never gets on the stage himself, and after a few weeks of polite refusals, the lads stop asking. It's nice, though. Comfortable. Gives Liam something to look forward to besides coursework and calling his mum every Sunday.

It also pales in comparison to the trajectory of Harry's life. Harry doesn't call as much as he used to, but he and Liam still text at least a few times a week. Enough for Liam to hear some of the wilder stories from Harry's first tour, which kicked off shortly after the release of his album. One of his rare phone calls, Harry explains that he's “only the opening act, but it's crazy, Liam, being on stage in front of so many screaming fans. I mean, I know a lot of 'em aren't there for me, but at every show I can hear them singing along. It's insane, you can't even imagine.”

And Liam can't. He tries to watch a few online videos posted by fans, but can't get through the high-pitched screams and shaky cameras. At least, that's what he tells himself whenever he slams his laptop shut, breathing hard through his nose.

The lie doesn't come as easy later, in the shower, when Liam closes his eyes and can't see anything besides Harry's long fingers gripping his mic, eyes closed and pink mouth open, his voice purring out dumb pop lyrics with enough of a rasp that it sounds almost dirty.

It's fucked up, Liam knows, that Harry's voice makes him hard. Fucked up that Liam can't get the image of Harry performing out of his head, even as he wraps his hand around his cock, wanking himself slowly.

Fucked up that Liam comes to the thought of Harry's red lips around his cock, biting his lip against a groan.

-

Harry's supposed to be home for Christmas, his little tour wrapping up at the end of November, and Liam is equal parts excited and apprehensive to see him in person again after so many months apart.

He's just gotten off the train back home, searching for his mum in the crowd, when his phone beeps with a new text.

_Sorry li. Change of plans... staying in london for xmas. Love you and miss you. H xx_

Liam has to read it three times before the words process. He's still standing there like a dolt when his mum finds him in the crowd, hugging him tightly and pressing a flurry of kisses to his cheek.

“Mum!” Liam protests, slipping his phone back into his pocket. “Are you honestly _crying_?”

“Shush. It's not everyday my baby comes home.”

Hitching his bag more securely over his shoulder, Liam follows his mum to the car. His phone feels like it's burning a hole in his pocket, but Liam ignores it.

No use in two of them crying.

-

Of course, since it's Liam's mum, tears are a rather unavoidable part of life. The house is decked out with Christmas decorations, lights and garland and an impressive tree in the front room, and it feels crowded in a way it never did when Liam was a kid, with both his sisters and their boyfriends in town.

Or, more accurately, his sister and her fianc _é_. The announcement is met with loud applause (everyone but Liam's mum) and a fresh bout of tears (Liam's mum). Then there's toasting and manly shoulder claps and excited squealing about wedding dresses, and by the time Liam is able to escape to bed he can barely keep his eyes open.

He slumps face first onto the mattress, kicking off his shoes with two distinct thumps. The waistband of his jeans is pressing uncomfortably into his stomach and with a groan, Liam rolls over to undo his flies and shove the fabric off his hips. He didn't bother to turn a lamp on, but there's enough light shinning through his bunny rabbit curtains to more or less make out the dark shape of his dresser, his overnight bag sitting on the floor next to it.

Automatically, Liam tilts his face towards the window, checking on the Styles' home. Harry's window is dark, no surprise there, but the rest of the house is lit up with a cheerful yellow.

At least it's not just Liam, then.

Harry's gone and left everyone behind.

-

Liam starts his second semester of uni with a bad taste in his mouth and an itch in his fingers. He doesn't bother unpacking before he's walking the familiar route to Niall's record shop, the bell jingling overhead like an old friend.

“Liam!” Niall greets, enthusiastic as always. “How ya doin', mate? Christmas all right?”

“Fine, fine. My sister, uh, she got engaged.”

“Hey, congrats to her! That's awesome.”

“Yeah,” Liam agrees, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “Hey, uh, Niall?”

“Hmm?”

“I was thinking...” he trails off, squaring his shoulders. “You play guitar, obviously, and sing. Do you know much about song writing?”

Niall sets down the stack of CD's he'd been stamping price tags on, raises his brow at Liam. “What d'ya wanna know about song writing?”

Biting his lip, Liam lets his mouth tilt up into a crooked smile. “Everything? I'm taking more music courses this semester, but, like... I really want to write my sister and her fianc _é_ a song, for the wedding.”

Niall lets out a low whistle. “Ambitious.”

With a shrug, Liam shifts his weight again. “It's why I'm asking for help, innit?”

Leaning back on his stool – far enough that Liam's afraid he's going to topple over backwards - Niall taps a finger against his lower lip, considering. “All right,” he says at last. “I'm not exactly an expert, here, but I'll help. On one condition.”

“Name it.”

Niall grins. “You're performing at Thursday's open mic night.”

-

Liam hasn't gotten on a stage since he was in secondary school and sharing the spotlight with Harry. The thought makes him feel like he's missed a step, stumbling without anything to catch him, and he has to shove it down, out of reach.

There's the warm press of someone's boney knee against his thigh, and Liam shoots Niall a nervous smile where he's sat next to Liam on a stool, guitar nestled in his lap.

“Relax,” Niall murmurs. “If you totally fuck it up, we'll tell everyone it was an April Fool's prank.”

“It's _January_.”

“Ahead of the curve, aren't we?” Niall grins. His smile settles something in Liam, and when he grips the mic stand, his hand doesn't feel quite so shaky.

“Right,” he says, his amplified voice hushing the crowd a bit. “Niall here--” he has to pause, grinning as the crowd cheers “--has convinced me to give this a go. If you hate it, please aim your tomatoes at him.”

There's a titter of laughter, and then Niall's fingers are strumming over the strings, picking out the melody.

Liam closes his eyes and starts singing.

-

“Payno's been holding out on us.”

“What the fuck, mate? Since when can you sing like that?”

“If you think you're not getting up there every Thursday...”

“Enough, enough!” Niall laughs. “Let the boy live! Anyway, I discovered him, didn't I? So the rest of you lot can fuck off.”

Liam ducks his head, cheeks hot. “'S nothing,” he mumbles. “Just a hobby.”

“A _hobby_? Mate, you should go on X-Factor. You'd smash it.”

Liam nearly chokes on his pint. “Uh, thanks, Sean. Not really a big fan of the X-Factor, though.”

Setting his drink back on the bar, Liam makes a quick excuse and disappears to the loo to splash some water on his face. Fingers gripping the stained porcelain, Liam studies his reflection in the mirror, buying himself time for the lads to move onto more interesting topics. In the too-bright florescent lighting, the bags under his plain brown eyes are dark and obvious. His eyebrows are still too thick, but nearly hidden beneath his floppy fringe. He should really get it cut. He hates the way it curls.

 

 

 **track nine: all too well  
** _“ **you call me up again just to break me like a promise”**_

 

“I can't believe Ruth is honestly getting married. It's like picturing _Gemma_ getting married.”

Liam laughs at Harry's tone of faint disgust. “I mean, it's not that crazy is it, Gemma getting married? She graduates soon, doesn't she?”

“Liam Payne. Do you have intentions towards my sister?”

“Oh, sod off, Harry. Gem still thinks of me as a snot-nosed kid.”

On the other end of the line, Liam can hear Harry let out a breathy laugh. “You _are_ still a snotty-nosed kid.”

“Watch it, Haz. I know about all your fan sites online. I'll start a rumor that you're a bed wetter.”

Harry snorts. “A bed wetter, Liam? That the best you can do?”

Grinning, Liam shifts his phone from one ear to the other. Through his window, he can see the first signs of spring. Or, like. The grass looks slightly less dead. There are definitely buds on at least some of the trees, though. Probably. If you squint.

“Don't want to tarnish your reputation too badly,” Liam answers. “How else will I be able to use you for your fame?”

“You, like. You know you're still my best mate, right Li? Even after... all this?”

Harry's suddenly serious tone catches Liam off guard. He hasn't seen Harry in person since a brief weekend trip to London, and Harry spent most of the time on the phone because he had “to take this call, Liam, 'm so sorry.”

“Of course,” Liam says immediately. “Just, like.” He licks his lips. “Not the same, is it?”

“No,” Harry says, and he sounds... almost sad. “But! That doesn't mean I don't want to hear all the juicy details about the wedding. Has Ruth chosen the bouquet arrangements? What color are the bridesmaids dresses? Ooh, tell me all the seating chart drama.”

“No idea. Blue, maybe? What do you mean, _seating chart drama_?”

“Liam. Have you never seen a romcom? You have twice as many sisters as I do.”

“If I'm being honest, mate, I think Ruth can handle planning the wedding. I'm more concerned that she wants me to bring a date.” Liam crosses one ankle over the other, lounging back on his bed. Actual phone calls from Harry are a rare thing, but he tries to make them count, rambling on in Liam's ear for upwards towards an hour, if he can find the time.

“Please, Liam. Like you'd have any trouble finding a date.”

“That's easy for you to say, _Sugarscape's Most Eligible Bachelor_.”

“Fuck off,” Harry says cheerfully. “C'mon, you could ask anyone. What about that girl you were seeing, back in sixthform? Debbie?”

“Danielle,” he corrects gently. “And that was years ago, Haz.”

“Right, well. You're in uni now. I know you're a gentleman, not one to kiss and tell, but you've got options, yeah?”

Guiltily, Liam thinks about the boy in the club who's name he never learned. “Not, um. Not anyone who'd be willing to be a wedding date.”

“Hmm.” Harry sounds stumped for a minute. “I know! I'll be your wedding date.”

“Harry...” Liam warns.

“No, no, hear me out. We can go as just mates, like. Your whole family loves me, Liam. And I promise not to step on your toes if we dance!”

He sounds so excited that Liam finds himself holding back a sigh. “Harry,” he says gently. “You couldn't make it home for Christmas, mate. You really think you'll be able to make the rehearsal dinner and wedding and all that?”

“Yes, Liam. Just text me the dates and I'll have the label take care of it. C'mon, Li. I couldn't miss Ruthie's wedding.”

Liam grins, leaning his forehead against the cool windowpane. “She'd never forgive you,” he teases.

“It's settled then. Can't break your sister's heart.”

-

The months leading up to the wedding are a bit of a blur. It's in late June, which means that Liam will be finished with classes and have one less thing on his plate to worry about, but that doesn't stop his mum from calling him up in March, nearly hysterical over... corsages, best Liam can tell.

“Mum,” he tries, pacifying. “The flowers for the wedding haven't even been _born_ yet. You don't need to panic.”

Apparently things like floral arrangements have to be ordered months in advance, so this is exactly the time to panic. An exhausting twenty minutes later, Liam finally ends the call, feeling drained. His phone starts ringing again not a minute later and he almost throws it across the room to avoid another conversation about the difference between indigo and violet (none, in Liam's nuanced opinion), but it's only Niall calling to confirm their plans.

Liam heads out a few minutes later, bag hitched over his shoulder, to make the short trek to Niall's flat. It's as tidy as it always is when he gets there, because despite Niall's chill personality about almost everything else, he's a bit of a neat freak.

“Payno!” he greets Liam enthusiastically at the door. “C'mon in, mate. Been fucking around a bit with a new melody, wanna know what ya think.”

Dropping his bag to the floor, Liam settles on the couch next to Niall, who's already pulled out his guitar. They've long since finished the song for the wedding, and for his first serious attempt at song writing, Liam's pretty satisfied with the results. It's sort of become a thing, now, getting together with Niall to write. They scrap more attempts than they finish, but they've tried out a few of the better ones at the pub on Thursdays and the reception wasn't half bad.

“Okay, let's hear it.”

Grinning, Niall fits his fingers over the strings, picking out a simple tune. Liam hums along, half-formed lyrics already in mind, and lets Niall play the song through.

“Yes? No? Was thinking – the chorus you wrote, about summer love ending --”

“Yeah,” Liam agrees excitedly. “No, that's perfect, this is absolutely how I imagined the song sounding, and the bridge bit, here--”

It's dark by the time they call it a day, but the end result is one of the best songs they've managed to write together so far. Liam doesn't know if it'll ever go anywhere, writing with Niall, but it settles something in him, untangling the mess of lyrics and notes bouncing around in his head and putting them down on paper where everything suddenly makes sense.

He doesn't feel the same rush, the nerves squirming excitedly in his gut, that he does when he gets up on stage, but there's a certain kind of satisfaction when he and Niall finish a song.

Liam's long since given up on his childhood dream, but he wonders if maybe it's time to come up with a new one.

-

Things are unsurprisingly hectic when Liam arrives home for the wedding. His mum is a like a grenade, bursting into tears at virtually any moment, and after making the rounds of polite conversation with relatives (yes, I'm in uni now; no, not sure what career I'd like, maybe something with music; yes, thanks, I'm aware that music isn't a sensible career; no, no girlfriend; no boyfriend either, thanks, Aunt Margaret, I'm glad you're concerned about my immortal soul), Liam escapes to his room. Someone else's suitcase is already settled at the foot of his bed, because Liam's been relegated to the couch, so he can't even flop across the bed the way he wants to.

Instead, he perches on the edge of the mattress, careful not to wrinkle the duvet, and pulls his phone from his pocket. He hasn't heard more than a few sporadic texts from Harry in the past two weeks, but Harry assured him that he still planned to make the wedding.

Liam doesn't have to look up to know that Harry's window is dark, curtains pulled shut. He types out a quick text – _let me know when ur in town!!_ \- before slipping his phone back in pocket. Giving himself five minutes, Liam takes a few deep breaths before venturing back downstairs into the fray.

-

Harry's not actually in the wedding party, so his absence at the rehearsal dinner isn't obvious to anyone who isn't Liam. Or, Liam amends, anyone who isn't Liam or his mum. She keeps shooting him these sad looks when she thinks he isn't looking and meaningful eyebrows whenever he does accidentally catch her eye.

At the first opportunity he has, Liam retreats to the bathroom and pulls his phone out of his pocket. There's a few texts from Niall and the lads, mostly banter, and one from Harry.

With shaky fingers, Liam opens the message.

_Flights delayed. Sorry, be there when I can. H xx_

Slumping back against the wall, Liam watches as the screen goes dim, then dark. He can't linger too long in the loo, or someone might realize he's gone and try to come find him.

He takes just enough time to splash some water on his face. If there's a wet sheen to his eyes, well. He should have been more careful, is all.

-

The wedding is absolutely beautiful. Flickering candles illuminate the small church, and the flowers in Liam's buttonhole are a perfect match for the purple shade of the bridesmaids' dresses. His mum watches the entire ceremony with tears in her eyes, but Ruth looks absolutely radiant in her dress, beaming at the altar.

Standing in the row of groomsmen, Liam tries not to look as lonely as he feels.

-

When Liam gets up after the best man speech, his hands don't shake at all when he grabs the mic. On cue, the backing tracking Niall pre-recorded for him starts playing, and Liam croons out the lyrics he and Niall wrote, eyes closed and pulse jumping in his throat. There's not a dry eye in the house when he finishes and Ruth hugs him so tight he loses his breath for a minute.

There's an open bar at the reception and as the night wears on, Liam takes advantage. His mum scolds him once, “ _Liam, your kidney_!” but since the worst thing that's ever happened to him after a night of booze is a wicked hangover, Liam shrugs it off.

He's a few pints deep when he hears the first titter of excitement. Ruth knows how to throw a party, tearing up the dance floor with her new husband and tipsy friends, so it takes Liam a minute to register that the noise isn't just the crowd getting progressively drunker.

No, there is the distinct sound of teen girls _swooning_. Pushing himself up off his barstool, Liam follows the sounds of his cousins shrieking with excitement, heart in his throat. He stumbles out of the main room into the hallway and pulls up short.

Harry's standing there, surrounded by four or five near hyperventilating girls. He looks completely at ease, offering autographs and hugs, seemingly oblivious to the devastation he's causing just by existing. Liam must make a sound, because suddenly Harry's looking up, catching is eye.

“Excuse me, girls. I need to go talk to Liam over there, all right?”

“You know _Liam_?” One of his younger cousins asks, eyes round with awe. Harry ruffles her hair as he walks by, and she's so far gone for him that she doesn't even protest or try to swat his hand away.

“Hi,” Harry says, when he finally reaches Liam.

“Hi,” Liam echoes. Harry looks – taller. His skin is golden, like he's been on a beach somewhere instead of rainy England, and he's starting to lose the puppy fat in his face, cheeks less rounded. His eyes are shadowed by the fringe flopping over his forehead and he shakes it back in a move so practiced it looks ingrained.

“Sorry 'm late.” He ducks his head, offering a small package, wrapped in silver and a neatly tied bow. “For Ruth,” he offers, handing it to Liam. Wordlessly, Liam takes it.

“You want a drink, or something?”

Harry shakes his head, still looking apologetic. “Sorry,” he repeats. “I can't – I can't stay. I didn't want to cancel, but--”

“You came all the way to Holmes Chapel for a five minute chat?” Liam can't help the incredulous tone that sneaks into his voice.

Glancing at his watch – big, gold, expensive – Harry bites his lip. “More like fifteen?”

“Oh, well. In that case.” Rolling his eyes, Liam turns back towards the party in the reception hall, shoving Harry's perfectly wrapped gift on the table with the already teeming pile.

“Liam, wait, where are you going?” Harry calls after him, jogging to catch up. He grabs Liam's arm, fingers warm though the thin material of Liam's dress shirt, and Liam whirls around, wrenching his arm away.

Aware that his cousins are still watching them and that his mum or sisters could step out of the reception hall and into the hallway at anytime, Liam keeps his voice pitched low, even has he jabs his finger into Harry's chest, forcing him to take a step back.

“Fuck off, Haz. I get it, okay. You're a busy popstar now, you don't have time for boring things like your best mate's sister's wedding.” Harry takes another step back, like Liam's words were a physical blow, but now that he's started, Liam can't stop the flow of words spilling out. “So thanks for the gift, all right, but you don't need to waste any more of your precious time on me.”

“Liam.” Harry sounds helpless. “That's not--”

“No.” Liam cuts him off. “I can't – I'm not doing this anymore, Harry. I'm not waiting around for scraps, pretending like we're still friends when you barely have time to call me. I'm not--” he closes his eyes, takes a shuddery breath. “I'm not mad at you, okay. You made your choice, when you went out for X-Factor, and it wasn't me. And that's – that's fine. I told you, didn't I? That you were always meant for more.” Looking up, he catches Harry's eye. Harry looks floored, his green eyes wide with surprise and hurt. “I just need you to stop pretending, okay. Stop pretending I wasn't your second choice.”

“Liam,” Harry says again, a broken record stuck on repeat. Maybe he's going to follow it up with more, but Liam can't – he can't stay here, stripped bare like this in front of Harry, so he turns on his heel and marches off down the hall to find the loo.

He locks himself in a stall for a good twenty minutes, pressing the heels of his palms against his eyes. By the time he comes out, his eyes are dry and Harry's gone.

 

 

 **track ten: the story of us  
** _“ **but you held your pride like you should have held me”**_

 

Harry gives Liam an entire two days to cool off before he texts him.

_You're not my second choice, Li. I'm sorry. Please call me._

Liam reads the message so many times it feels like the words are burned into his retinas, but he can't bring himself to push the call button. At least he's kept busy, packing up all the stuff he's managed to collect since he first moved into his tiny flat. It's sort of incredible, actually, how many boxes it takes to fit everything. Niall, predictably, is utterly unconcerned when he sees the pile. Gamely, he picks up a box, hoisting it up into his arms and trying to flex his biceps whenever a cute girl walks by as he helps Liam carry everything down the stairs and into the car he's borrowed from his cousin.

When the boot of the car is packed full, Niall slams it shut and grins at Liam. “Don't know how you're going to fit all this shit into my flat, Payno. How can one person own that much Batman-themed paraphernalia?”

Liam frowns. “I don't do drugs. Anyway, Nialler, it's _our_ flat, innit? I am paying rent, you know.”

“I know.” Niall climbs behind the wheel and waits for Liam to settle into the passenger seat next to him before pulling away from the curb. “Gonna be a better flatmate than Willie, too. He's family, I know, but the wanker leaves his socks _everywhere_.” Niall shudders, nearly running a red light. Liam cringes. This might be the longest four block car ride he's ever taken.

“I promise not to leave my socks lying around if you promise not to kill us in a car crash,” Liam offers charitably, checking the give on his seatbelt.

Niall winks at him. “Deal.”

-

It takes twice as long to get unpacked as it did to shove his entire life into boxes and Liam gives up halfway through, slumping onto the couch where Niall's already made himself at home, pint in hand.

“Done unpacking?” he asks conversationally, grabbing for a handful of crisps. There's a footie match playing on TV.

Liam shrugs. “Close enough.”

“Mmm. Wanna go out t'night, then? Lads want 't get drinks.”

Liam considers it before shaking his head. “Nah. Feel a bit knackered, actually. Think I might go to bed early.”

“You're an old man,” Niall complains. Liam grabs for the packet of crisps, snatching it from Niall's hand and tossing them one by one at his face. Instead of protesting, Niall just opens his mouth and tries to catch them on his tongue. He somehow manages to miss every single one, despite Liam's incredibly accurate aim.

By the time Niall gets the crumbs cleared off his face, then the sofa (he actually gets out a hoover; he's got to be the only uni student Liam knows who honestly owns a hoover), and he's asked Liam if he's sure he doesn't want to go out another six times, Liam feels beyond tired and is ready to pass out in bed.

Of course, the second he lays his head on the pillow, he feels wide awake. His muscles are sore from moving boxes and furniture all day and he's still emotionally drained from the wedding. Ruth and her new husband aren't even back from their honeymoon and his mum is already dropping hints about grandkids. It's enough to make Liam's head spin.

Grabbing for his phone, Liam idly flicks through his messages. There's a text from Niall, telling him he still has an open invitation to join the lads if he changes his mind and another from his sister, asking if Liam could please reiterate to their mum that there will be no babies in the near future.

The message from Harry is still sitting there, unanswered. Liam wonders what Harry's up to now, if he's even in the same timezone. He could look online, find out in under ten seconds flat, and the thought makes something prick uncomfortably under his skin. Harry's life is like an open book these days, everything out there for the world to see.

Well, almost everything.

Liam thumbs the call button, pressing the phone to his ear as it starts ringing. He thinks it's going to go to voicemail, and panics a bit, no idea what to say, but then--

“Hello? Liam?”

“Harry. Hey.”

“You called.” He sounds – surprised. Happy. Liam swallows against the sudden lump in his throat.

“Yeah, I... I wanted to apologize. About the wedding, I mean. I said some things, that weren't, um...”

Over the line, Harry exhales noisily. “Liam, stop. You don't have to apologize, all right? You were right. I didn't mean to, like, pick all this--” Liam imagines that Harry is waving a hand around to signify everything he means and smiles fondly “--over you. It's just, like, a lot harder than I expected to have both.”

“Yeah,” Liam says softly. “I know, Haz.”

“But I've been thinking. Maybe we can't – it's not like when we were kids and got to see each other every day, but – we can still be mates, Li. My schedule is, well, you know, but I was thinking. Maybe you could come visit me, sometimes? Can't promise I won't have appointments and shit that I can't reschedule, but I'm, like, recording my second album now, which I can't – like, my second album, oh my god, Liam, and anyway, it's sort of boring, sometimes, sitting around the studio, but if you wanted to come I promise, like, I'll make sure they feed you and maybe you can meet some of the producers and--”

“Oh my god, Harry, stop rambling,” Liam laughs. “Yes, you idiot, 'course I'd love to visit you.”

Maybe he's setting himself up for disaster. But if the choice spending time with Harry on Harry's terms, or no Harry at all, well.

It's not like it's the first time Liam's made this mistake.

-

Liam's vague when he tells Niall, explaining that he's going to London for the weekend to visit an old mate. It's not a lie, exactly, but it's a pretty big omission. Niall's not quite a Harry Styles fanboy, but it's pretty close. Liam just never found a good opportunity to explain about knowing Harry back when they were still more acquaintances than friends, and now it's all a bit awkward.

It's fine, Liam figures. It's not like Harry's ever going to make it up to Liam's uni in the midlands.

Harry sends a driver to pick him up at the train station, which is surreal in and of itself. The driver – some bloke named Mark – tells him that he can take Liam to Harry's flat for a kip, if he wants, or straight to the studio where Harry is still recording.

“Uh, studio,” Liam mumbles, hugging his bag to his chest. He's been to Harry's posh flat once before, unless he's moved, which is entirely possible. It's all white walls and minimalistic furniture and feels almost cold. Liam doesn't think Harry sleeps there very often.

There's a small crowd of girls standing outside the studio when they pull up. They look excited by the Range Rover when Mark parks, but quickly lose interest when Liam climbs out of the passenger seat, clearly hoping to have seen someone else. Mark tells him he can leave his bag in the car, so Liam has nothing to do with his hands as he follows him into the studio, the A/C blasting hard enough for goosebumps to erupt over his skin.

Harry's in the middle of recording, so Liam takes a seat outside of the booth and tries his best to look inconspicuous. It probably doesn't work, as he can't help looking around the studio with wide eyes, taking it all in. It's worlds away from writing songs in Niall's living room with a single guitar and scribbles in a dog-eared notebook. Liam wants it so bad it hurts.

After Harry's finished a couple more takes and the producer is satisfied, he bounds out the booth and immediately spots Liam.

“You made it!” he crows, all but pouncing on Liam, wrapping him up in a hug with his gangly octopus arms. Laughing, Liam hugs him back, squeezing tight.

“C'mon, c'mon,” Harry says, climbing off Liam's lap and pulling him to his feet. “I want you to meet everyone.” Fingers wrapped around Liam's wrist, Harry tugs him around the studio, dimples out in full force as he introduces Liam. It's sort of a blur of faces and handshakes, but Harry's excitement is infectious.

They end up staying late, long after the sun sets, and send an intern out for takeaway. Fingers greasy with KFC, Liam munches happily on his chicken leg and watches Harry's antics with amusement. He thought being in a real, professional recording studio was serious business, but between bouts of recording, it seems to be a lot of banter and laughs. Niall would absolutely love it, Liam thinks a little guiltily.

The producer – Julian, Liam thinks his name is – is trying to cajole Harry into getting serious again, after they've polished off the fried chicken. “You said you wanted writing credits on this album,” Julian reminds Harry. “Well, boss, now's the time to put your money where your mouth is.”

Harry just grins, the slow, easy one that's earned him his heartthrob status. “You know who should put their money where their mouth is?” He flops an arm out until his palm connects with Liam's thigh. “My mate Liam. He's a better singer than I am, you know.”

“Harry,” Liam says, squirming in his seat. Everyone's eyes are on Liam, save for Harry, who appears to be in some kind of staring match with Julian.

“Seriously. Let him in the booth. Bet he can hit that note I've been missing all day.” There's an edge to Harry's voice, a challenge, almost.

“It's your studio time,” Julian finally says with a shrug. “You wanna let your mate in the booth, be my guest.”

Harry looks smug, at least until he catches the look on Liam's face. “What?” he says, voice quiet, but still carrying around the small room.

“What are you doing?” Liam mutters back. “Seriously, Harry. I don't want to get in the booth. Julian's right. This is your recording time.”

A furrow appears between Harry's brows as he frowns. “Yeah, and I want to share it with you. What's the big deal, Li? 'S not like we're gonna get anything else done tonight. Have a go.”

Everyone's still watching them and Liam doesn't want to make this a thing, so he forces a tight smile. “Nah, that's all right. Been a long day. Think I'll leave the singing up to the professionals, yeah?”

Harry looks like he's about to dig his heels in, but then Julian stands up. “Kid's right. We've got an early start tomorrow, so let's call it a night.”

Barely ten minutes later, Liam's crawling in the backseat of the Range Rover. The fans outside have disappeared, given up on their chance to glimpse Harry, and Liam suddenly feels exhausted. The car is quiet as Mark pulls away from the studio, Harry fiddling absentmindedly with the radio, the volume too low for Liam to make out what he's looking for.

Traffic in London's a mess and by the time they pull to a stop in front of Harry's building, Liam finds himself blinking his eyes open, rubbing his hand over the crick in his neck as he jerks awake.

“You weren't kidding,” Harry grins from the front seat. “You really are knackered, aren't you?”

Liam hums noncommittally, lets Harry carry his bag after a token protest.

“Bathroom's down the hall,” Harry offers, waving his hand in the general vicinity and dropping Liam's bag inside the doorway of the guest bedroom. “Make yourself at home, yeah?”

“Thanks, Haz,” Liam says around a yawn.

Harry's smile looks a little worn around the edges. “Of course. Gonna have a drink, if you want one...?”

“Don't you have to be at the studio early?”

Already padding down the hall towards the kitchen, Harry calls over his shoulder, “Live a little, Liam!”

Shaking his head, Liam follows after Harry. He perches on a stool at the counter while Harry pulls two bottles of beer out of the fridge, cracking them open and sliding one across the granite countertop to Liam.

Liam watches as Harry takes a sip, setting his bottle back on the counter and sliding it from one hand to the other in an easy rhythm.

“So,” Harry finally says. “If I ask you to take a turn in the booth again tomorrow, are you gonna make another excuse?”

He's not usually so blunt. Liam takes a pull of beer, buying himself time to answer. “I'm here to visit you, Haz. Not play at being a popstar.”

“That's not fucking fair, Liam. You know that's not what I'm asking you to do.”

“Yeah? And what exactly are you asking me?”

Harry pushes a hand through his hair, shoving his curls back from his face. He's grown it out longer than he ever wore it back in school, but he hasn't outgrown the habit of shaking it out of his eyes.

“I don't want to fight with you, Li. Just forget it, all right? Was trying to do something nice for you.”

For a moment, Liam is speechless. “What? Sorry, but what about that was _nice_? Throwing your weight around the studio, like a proper diva, to – what, exactly? Give me a taste of everything I can't have? Make me look like an idiot in front of, like, _industry_ people?”

Harry fishmouths at him for a minute before he figures out a retort. “What the fuck? That's what you think? I was trying to – fuck, Liam! I wasn't lying to Julian when I said that you're better than me. Wanted to give you a chance to show off. I've been talking you up all week, okay, and I thought, like, if he was impressed by you--”

“You – what? Harry.” Liam has to take a deep breath to collect himself. “Listen to me, okay? I'm... flattered, I guess, that you want to use your success to – to promote me, or whatever. But I don't – I'm not going to use you like that. And-- no, wait, hear me out,” he holds up a hand when Harry opens his mouth to argue. “I don't want it, Harry. The fame, and the record deal, and the fans – I never wanted it. Not without you.”

“But you _have_ me!” Harry's all but stamping his foot like a petulant child.

“Do I?” Liam counters. “Maybe there was a time I did, but not anymore. It started with Louis, I think. He got parts of you that I never even touched. And that was – whatever. It was fine. But then you tried out for the X-Factor, and you didn't – you didn't even _tell_ me.” He ignores the way his voice cracks, takes another fortifying sip of beer. “All I've got is pieces of you, Haz. It was supposed to be you and me, okay. Sonny and Cher. And I get it, okay, I do. It was a stupid childhood dream, it was never gonna happen. But then you did it without me.” Humiliatingly, Liam feels his eyes prick with unshed tears. He blinks furiously, refusing to cry. “Why did you do it without me?” he manages, voice tight.

Harry picks at the label on his beer instead of answering, and something inside Liam snaps.

“Fine, if that one's too tough for you, how 'bout this? That time we kissed--” Harry flinches, and Liam feels a reckless sense of triumph “--why'd you act like you didn't remember?”

“I – we were drunk, Liam. It didn't –“

“So help me god, Styles, if you're about to finish that sentence with 'mean anything.'”

Harry falls silent, looking as miserable as Liam feels. The label on his bottle is ripped to shreds. Liam knows the feeling.

“I can't do this, Harry. I thought it was enough, okay, getting to be a part of your life, but it's – it's like, I can't compete. I want so much more than you can give me, and it's not fair to either of us.”

“What are you saying, Liam?” Harry's voice sounds low, raw.

“I dunno. I love you, Haz. You're my best mate. But I... I think maybe I need to not be mates with you, right now.”

Harry huffs out a breath that could be interpreted as a laugh, under any other circumstance. “Are you breaking up with me?”

Liam does laugh, but it sounds forced, hollow. “No. That'd imply there was something left between us to break, wouldn't it?”

He waits for Harry to correct him, to tell him he's wrong, to tell him that he's being stupid, to do anything other than watch as Liam picks up the bag he never even had a chance to unpack and walk to the door. But Harry doesn't say a word as Liam reaches for the doorknob, doesn't move from where he's slumped over his half-finished beer as Liam closes the door behind him.

Turns out it's not any easier, doing the leaving. Shoving his hands in his pockets, Liam wanders Harry's posh neighborhood aimlessly until someone takes pity on him and gives him directions to the nearest train station. From there, it's easy enough to exchange his ticket for an earlier return ride.

He doesn't check his phone until the train pulls out of the station, but it doesn't matter. There's no message waiting for him, asking him to come back.

 

 

 **track eleven: sad beautiful tragic  
** _“ **and time is taking its sweet time erasing you”**_

 

Niall, intuitive bloke that he is, doesn't do more than raise his eyebrows curiously at Liam's unexpectedly early return. Liam accepts his offer to go out with the lads and drinks too much, winding up with his head in the toilet like he's fifteen again. Niall just pets his hair and hands him a glass of water before leaving Liam to his misery.

He's not quite so quietly supportive when Liam comes home the next day after an impromptu visit to the barber.

“Uh, Liam? Not being funny, mate, but where's your hair?”

Self-consciously, Liam runs a hand over his buzzed head. “Shaved it off.”

“Yes, I can see that. Any particular reason?”

Liam fidgets. “No.”

“Right. So it's not related 't your weekend trip getting cut short, or getting so shit faced 't other day that you almost puked on yourself?”

“I didn't puke on myself,” Liam corrects. “I puked _near_ Eoghan, and I don't care what he says, anything that landed on him was just a ricochet. Not my fault.”

“You should've aimed for him, but that's beside the point. What's going, Liam?”

“Nothing. Fancied a haircut.”

Niall looks distinctly unimpressed. “You can say it's none of my business if ya don't wanna talk about it. You don't need 't lie.”

Defeated, Liam slumps down on the couch next to Niall. “Sorry. I just. It's sort of complicated? And I really don't want to talk about it.”

Nudging his shoulder against Liam's, Niall grins. “'S fine, mate. We won't talk about it, then, okay? But if you change your mind...”

“You're a good mate, Niall. You know that?”

Niall looks pleased. “I do, but it's always good 't hear a confirmation.”

“Oh, piss off,” Liam groans, shoving Niall back.

-

“Mate, I can't keep playing like this. My fingers are gonna bleed.”

“Don't you have, whatsit, callouses?”

“I do,” Niall agrees. “But you are churning out the break up songs faster than Taylor Swift. I'm as concerned about your mental state as I am about my fingers.”

Huffing out a sigh, Liam lets his head drop back against the couch. He's seated on the floor, ink stained notebook in his lap, while Niall's sat above him, guitar resting across his knees. They've been working on new material for what feels like hours. Liam checks his watch, and yes, definitely hours. Too many of them.

“Sorry,” he says. “Just have a lot of, like, unresolved... feelings.”

Niall snorts. “Clearly.” Hopping off the couch, he places his guitar back in its stand before padding towards the kitchen. “We need 't eat,” he announces, disappearing behind the open fridge door. “And then we need 't drink.”

With a groan, Liam drapes an arm over his eyes. “No more drinking. Eoghan's still not talking to me.”

“Eoghan's a baby,” Niall says dismissively. “And I don't care whatever kind of secret break-up thing that you're refusing 't talk about happened, you need 't get out of the house. You're _wallowing_ , Liam. Getting some great song material out of it, I admit, but I don't think it's healthy.”

“It works fine for Taylor Swift,” Liam points out grumpily.

“Yeah, but she writes happy songs, too. And _does_ things, besides mope in her living room.”

“You don't know her life.”

“Which is why I'm buggin' you. Get off your arse, Payno, or I won't save you any chips.”

“Don't want your mushy leftover chips,” Liam sniffs, but he's already climbing to his feet, following Niall into the kitchen.

-

The Thursday night crowd fills the pub a few weeks later, buzzing with excitement. Liam and Niall have gained something of a following with their mix of acoustic covers and original songs. It doesn't hurt that Niall's mates always work the crowd, getting everyone hyped for their performance.

“You sure about this?” Niall whispers, plucking at a few errant strings of his guitar to test the sound. “It's not too late to do a cover. Crowd'd go mad for _Shake It Off_.”

Adjusting the mic, Liam shakes his head. “I'm sure. This one's like, it's personal, but vague? And I think I need to, like, put it out there.”

Niall smiles, bright as always. “Everyone'll go mad for it. Next Taylor Swift, right here.”

“Shut up,” Liam says, fond, before clearing his throat and quieting the crowd.

“Hey, so. Me 'n Niall here have another new song for you guys.” He pauses while the crowd cheers, unable to help the smile that spreads across his face. “Bit of a slow song, but hopefully you all like it. This is _Fool's Gold_.”

Niall begins to pick out the opening chords on his guitar and Liam closes his eyes, letting the words pour out. In what feels like the blink of an eye, they perform the entire song and the audience rewards them with wild applause. Near the back, Liam hears Eoghan let out loud wolf whistle and he grins as he follows Niall off the stage, feeling lighter than he has in weeks.

-

Liam spends the rest of summer alternatively writing songs with Niall and working part-time at the record shop, whenever Bressie will give him hours. He'll need to find a proper job once the semester starts, his student loan money only stretching so far, and he takes advantage of his current free time to write, filling pages and pages with lyrics and snatches of notes that Niall can somehow turn into a complete melody with only his guitar.

The start of the semester approaches around the same time Harry begins promoting his sophomore album. It's not set to release until late fall, but suddenly Harry's stupid face is plastered all over the windows of the record shop. The increased attention that he's releasing a second album makes for endless fodder for the gossip rags as well, everything from speculation that he's just a flash in the pan, riding out the last legs of his fame, to wild rumors that he's dating a TV host twice his age or having regular threesomes with Zayn.

Liam's general policy is to stubbornly ignore any magazine or poster with Harry's face and pretend that it doesn't exist, which works great; at least, until the day he comes home from the gym and heads to the kitchen to grab a water bottle from the fridge, only to be met with a pair of familiar green eyes staring at him from a poster that's been taped to the door.

“Niall?” Liam says, voice tight. “What the hell is this?”

Niall pops his head in the room. “Hmm? Oh, d'ya like it? I remembered that you bought his first album. There were extra posters at the shop, Brez said I could take one.” He beams at Liam, like this is good news.

Liam bites back a curse. He wants to snap at Niall for bringing this reminder into his life, into his kitchen, but he can't blame Niall for not being able to read his mind. In fact, from Niall's perspective, he's done a really thoughtful thing for Liam.

It makes him want to scream.

“Er. D'ya not like it?”

“No, no,” Liam says, smiling weakly. “It's – thanks, Niall. That was nice of you. I'm just, uh. Not really a big fan, of him. Harry. Styles, I mean. Anymore. That's all.”

“Uh huh,” Niall says slowly. “I'll just take it down then, yeah?”

Cracking open his water, Liam chugs half of it down in one long gulp. He wipes the back of his hand over his mouth when he's finished and finds that he's bought himself enough time that he feels like he can speak without biting Niall's head off. “Cheers, mate.”

He edges around Niall to the bathroom, where he takes a long, scalding shower.

-

Everything comes to a head a few weeks later. Liam's never been stretched so thin, between his classes and coursework and a part-time job at a bookshop near campus. He has to work late one Thursday, covering a shift for someone off sick, and feels grumpy and off-balance that he's missed open mic night when he finally gets home.

It's too late to rationalize going down to the pub for a drink, but early enough that Liam doesn't expect to see Niall already home, sat on the couch with his laptop open. When Liam comes through the door, Niall looks up at him with wide eyes.

“Have you checked your phone, mate? Been trying 't reach for you for a bloody hour.”

Liam drops his backpack onto the floor with a loud thump. “No, it died halfway through work. Why? Something wrong?”

“I know you said you don't like Harry Styles anymore, but you need 't see this.”

Liam feels his stomach drop to the floor. “Eh, no thanks. Not interested.”

“ _Liam_. He tweeted a link 't your video. It's getting so many hits, oh my god.”

“What? I don't... Niall, what are you on about? What video?”

Niall pats the spot on the couch next to him and Liam sinks down, eyes on the computer screen. “Look, someone filmed us performing your song at open mic and uploaded it like a month ago. Don't know who linked it 't Styles, but he saw it and tweeted about it.” He claps Liam on the shoulder excitedly. “Even if ya don't like his music, mate, how fucking sick is this? Harry Styles has heard your song! And now, so have.... holy shit, it's got like forty thousand views. Liam! Liam?”

Liam closes his eyes, trying to breathe. He didn't even know Harry had a bloody twitter account. “What did it say?” he asks when he thinks he can talk without his voice giving him away. “The tweet. What'd it say?”

“Uh, hang on, okay, here it is. He said 'incredible talent. Give this a watch' and then added the link.” Niall looks up, incredulous smile on his face. “He thinks you're incredibly talented, Liam. Holy shit!”

“Fucking _prick_ ,” Liam mutters, seeing the flash of disappointment in Niall's face before he stalks into his room to find his phone charger. When he plugs his phone in and turns it on, it beeps with a flurry of notifications, people texting and calling him about Harry's bloody tweet, no doubt. He skims through it all quickly, just to double check, but nope, there's nothing from Harry.

“ _Prick,_ ” he snarls again. In the bedroom doorway, Niall shuffles into view, looking uncertain. “Liam? You all right, mate?”

“I'm fine,” Liam snaps. He scrolls through his contact list until he reaches Harry's name, punching the call button. It only rings twice before Harry picks up with a cautious “Hello?”

“What the _hell_ , Harry?”

A pause. Then: “I take it you saw the tweet.”

Liam runs a hand through his shorn hair. It's been slowly growing back, but he thinks maybe it's time to buzz it again. Niall's still standing in the doorway, mouth gaping open, but Liam doesn't care.

“What exactly were you thinking? You don't talk to me for two fucking months, and then you just tweet a video of me to your thousands of followers, without so much as a text?”

“Er. Millions, actually.”

“What?”

“I've got a couple of million twitter followers.”

Liam sinks onto the bed, phone still pressed to his ear. “I don't care how many fucking followers you have. I told you, I don't want you to – to promo me, or whatever the fuck it's called.”

“You said you didn't want to _use_ me, Liam. That's what you said. And you're not. Someone showed the video to Julian, okay, and he showed it to me, wanted to know if the person in the video was you. Actually, he wanted to know if you really wrote the song, and if we could get you back in the studio, but I didn't want to, like, scare you off.”

“So you came up with the brilliant plan to tweet about it to millions. Well done.” His head feels woozy, like his brain is filled with cotton, and his heart is pounding in his throat.

“Yeah,” Harry says, and for the first time, there's a bite to his tone. “And I'm not sorry about it, either. If it's posted online, that's fair game for me to link to. You – god. You're so frustrating, Liam, you know that? You never fucking believe me when I tell you that you're talented, that you're better than me – no, don't interrupt, it's my turn right now. I let you say your piece, before. Listen to me. You're so talented, but you never believe anyone who tells you so. I thought maybe if you wouldn't believe me, you'd believe the few thousand people who watched your video.”

Liam is momentarily speechless. “You – you're not playing fair.”

“This isn't a _game_ , Liam,” Harry huffs, sounded exasperated.

“I know. I know that. But, Harry, you can't – you can't do shit like this.”

“Why not?” he asks sulkily and Liam almost smiles. Almost.

“Because I've spent two months trying to forget you.”

Harry hisses out a breath. “Not pulling punches, are you? Fine, if that's what you want. Answer one question for me, Liam, and I'll let you go. Who'd you write that song about?”

“Fuck you, Harry.”

“You're the one who ended things, Liam. That was all you.”

“And you won't let me forget it, will you?” He hangs up before Harry can respond. It's petty, but Liam doesn't have a scrap of dignity left. He can at least get the last word in.

The sound of someone clearing their throat catches his attention and Liam starts, looking up to see that Niall's still stood in the doorway, looking a bit shell-shocked.

“I am so sorry for listening 't that,” he says quickly. “But were you talking 't _Harry Styles_?”

Liam scrubs a hand over his face, dropping his phone onto the mattress next to him. “I probably should have mentioned it before,” he allows. “But Harry was kind of my best mate growing up?”

Niall's eyes look like they're about to pop out his head and roll to the floor. “You've been writing break up songs about Harry Styles.”

Liam shifts, uncomfortable. “Well, not exactly. We never dated, or anything, so.”

“Mate, that is _not_ the kind of argument you have with a platonic best friend.”

“No,” Liam agrees. “It's the kind of argument you have with someone who is no longer your best friend. 'M knackered. I think I'm gonna go to bed,” he announces abruptly.

“Okay. But as one of your _current_ best mates, we are going 't talk about this tomorrow.” Niall holds a hand up when Liam starts to protest. “No, whatever, if ya don't want 't talk about Harry, that's fine. But that's one hell of a secret you kept from me, Payno.”

With a guilty roll of his stomach, Liam realizes that it's hurt, leaking into Niall's voice.

“”M sorry, Nialler,” he says in a small voice. “Things with me and Harry, it's been... rough, for a while. Before I met you, even. I didn't mean to shut you out. Just, like. Never knew how to bring it up.”

When Niall's lip curves up into a smile, Liam's relieved that it doesn't look forced. “'S all right, Liam. 'M not mad at you. Just want ya 't know I'm here for ya, y'know? You can always talk 't me.”

“I know,” Liam says, smiling back gratefully.

 

 

 **track twelve: back to december  
** _“ **so if the chain is on your door i understand”**_

 

Over tea in the morning, Liam explains haltingly to Niall that he and Harry grew up together, that things sort of fell apart between them around the time he tried out for the X-Factor, and that it was too hard, trying to stay friends when their lives were in such different places.

He doesn't mention Louis, or the kiss, or the fact that Liam's been in love with Harry since he was 15.

Niall, not being an idiot, doesn't need it spelled out for him. “How long have ya been pining over him, then?”

“Fuck. Is it that obvious?”

Niall grins, stirring another lump of sugar into his second mug of tea. “Not 't the casual observer, maybe. But the sad songs were a dead giveaway, mate. Not exactly subtle.”

“Harry wasn't ever supposed to hear them,” Liam says, feeling petulant. “They were, like, private. For the pub only.”

Rolling his eyes, Niall takes a sip of tea. “Well, mate, that ship has sailed. He's heard the song, and you two had an impressive row over it. So,” he steeples his hands in front of his face. “What happens next?”

Liam shrugs. “Dunno. Spent the last five years of my life trying to get over him. Can't walk further than a block without seeing his stupid face on some poster, so it's not exactly going well.”

Niall winces. “Sorry. Probably shouldn't have plastered him all over our fridge, huh?”

“You didn't know,” Liam argues. “Probably should have told you.”

“Guess we're even.”

“Yeah.” An easy silence falls between them and Liam stirs his tea, making a tiny hurricane in his mug. He waits for Niall to say whatever he's thinking, because if Liam knows Niall, he's definitely got something brewing.

“Do ya know,” Niall starts, right on cue, “how he feels about you?”

Liam stops stirring and his tea hurricane sloshes over the rim of the mug. “What do you mean?”

“Like. Any chance the feelings might be, y'know, mutual?” Liam's already shaking his head, but Niall continues, voice gentle. “It wasn't exactly a quiet fight you two had. Didn't catch everything Harry said, but I got most of it.” He pauses. “Er, sorry. Bit rude of me 't eavesdrop, I know.”

Liam waves a hand distractedly. “'S fine. It's not like you were trying to hide. Could have shut the door if I wanted privacy. I was just, um. Bit heated.”

“A bit,” Niall agrees, lips quirking into a smile. “Point is, maybe you and Harry have a really dysfunctional, co-dependent friendship and it just _sounds_ like you both have feelings for each other. Or maybe,” he shrugs, “you both actually have feelings for each other.”

“Even if that's true – and it's really, really not – it doesn't change the fact that he's a famous popstar and I'm – this.”

“Miserable? Pathetic? Maudlin?” Niall offers, smiling crookedly.

“Swallowed a dictionary, have you?”

Scrapping back his chair, Niall stands up, putting his empty mug in the sink. “'M not trying 't take the piss, but I hate seeing ya look so sad all the time. I don't know what the solution is, here, but I think ya need 't at least talk 't him. Get everything out there on the table.”

“Hmm.”

Shaking his head, Niall squeezes Liam's shoulder on his way out of the kitchen. “It's your life, Payno. Do what makes you happiest, yeah?”

He doesn't wait for Liam to respond. Liam sits at the table for a long time, tea gone cold.

-

A week later, Liam still hasn't figured out what to do, other than skip open mic night to have a lie-in on the couch. Niall accuses him of having a sulk and tries to cuddle him back to happiness, but changes his mind once Liam pushes him forcibly onto the floor. He threatens to open a tab under Liam's name and buy a round for everyone, but since they both have open tabs they'll never have a prayer of paying off, it's not exactly effective.

Liam's just considering moving his pity party to bed when someone knocks loudly on the door. With a groan, Liam pulls himself up off the couch, walking on socked feet to the entry. Niall's got to stop getting pissed and losing his key. There's only so many times Liam can go to the hardware store to get his key copied before the clerk starts to get suspicious.

The knocking doesn't let up, which only convinces Liam that Niall's managed to get incredibly inebriated. “Hold on, I'm coming,” he yells, shuffling over to the door and snapping open the deadbolt.

“I swear to god, if you've lost--”

He cuts himself off abruptly as the door swings open. The person standing there looks incredibly inebriated, swaying on their feet, but it isn't Niall.

“Harry? What are you doing here?”

Harry stumbles forward and Liam catches him automatically. Harry's hand grips his shirt, hanging on tight, and his fingers find their way to Liam's hair.

“Can' believe y'cut it off,” he slurs. “Miss the curls.”

Mouth tight, Liam shuts the door with a click, guiding Harry to the couch where he slumps down with a groan.

“What are you _doing_ here?” he repeats, searching Harry's pockets. Harry giggles. “Stop. Ti-tickles.”

“Where's your phone? Does anyone know where you are right now?”

Lazily, Harry lolls his head until he catches Liam's eye. He reaches up, cupping Liam's cheek with one big hand, thumb sliding over Liam's lower lip. “Such a mum,” he sighs. “Always mumming me, aren't ya, Li?”

“Because you're always so careless,” Liam snaps. “We're not kids anymore, Harry. You need to be a fucking adult.”

“Nope,” Harry sing-songs. “Can't make me.”

Liam finally unearths Harry's phone from the front pocket of his too-tight jeans. It's dead, of course. He bites back a growl.

“You can sleep on the couch, all right? I'll deal with you in the morning.”

He turns towards his room, but Harry grabs his sleeve, his grip surprisingly strong. “No, wait. Don't – don't go, Liam. Please, don't go.”

“For fuck's sake, I'm going to _bed_ , Harry.” He tries to peel Harry's fingers off his shirt, and that's when he notices the ink staining his skin. Turning Harry's wrist towards the light, Liam realizes that the smudged writing is his address.

“Y'mum told me where you live,” Harry says. He hiccups. “Didn't wan' to forget.”

“So you planned to get pissed before showing up on my doorstep then? Just like old times?”

If Harry registers the blow, he gives no indication. “S'what I do, Liam. Whenever someone breaks my heart. Get drunk and come cryin' to you.”

“Yeah, well. I'm done picking up the pieces. Good night, Harry.”

“No. No, no, no,” Harry chants, grabbing Liam's wrist and tugging him down until he's sprawled across the couch, half in Harry's lap. “Y'don't _understand_. Y'have to pick up the pieces. You broke them.”

“You're not making sense.”

Harry doesn't loosen his grip on Liam's wrist. “'M sorry. “M so, so sorry. I should've told you, before. 'S why I got drunk. Need to – to b' honest, wi'you.”

“What?”

“'M _sorry_ ,” Harry says again. “Y'just. You scare me, Liam. You've always been there, ever since I broke m'arm, fallin' out of that tree. Y'like... you always have m'back, 'n I thought I was so _lucky_ , 'cause you picked me. Y'picked _me_ , to be your best mate. And you believed in me, before anyone else, and then I met Lou, and... and...”

“Hey,” Liam says gently, settling on the cushion next to Harry. “Don't forget to breathe, okay, there you go.”

“See?” Harry huffs out. “Y'always do this. I show up, pissed outta my head, and y'just. You take care of me.”

“Harry...”

“No, no, listen. I thought, w'Lou. Thought I loved 'im, y'know? And I did. I loved 'im. But it wasn't – that's why we fought, Liam. He wasn't. Wasn't you.” Harry wriggles closer, until his forehead is pressed to the skin of Liam's neck, and he can address the Batman decal on Liam's shirt.

“I didn't forget the kiss,” he confesses, voice barely more than a whisper. “Wanted to kiss you, f'so long. But I knew I couldn't – 'm _selfish_ , Li. I take everything y'give me, and I still want more. Scared me, how much more I wanted.”

“We were kids, Harry. Stupid kids.” He can feel Harry shake his head, curls brushing against his cheek.

“Y'don't understand. Still want you, Li. I – I never told you, but when I auditioned for the X-Factor--”

Liam stiffens and Harry rubs his thumb in soothing circles over the fabric of Liam's shirt. “I felt so guilty. That was our dream, and I--” he pulls back, sitting up to look Liam in the eye. His pupils are blown wide, his irises rimmed in red, and he's still the prettiest thing Liam's ever seen.

“I thought, if Lou wasn't enough, maybe. Maybe the X-Factor would be. To make me forget about – about how much I wanted you,” he admits, voice soft and words still slurring. “As soon as it was over, I knew I was wrong. I shouldn't have done it, w'out you. But I couldn't – I couldn't stop it, Li. You gotta understand. I couldn't stop it.” He's almost pleading.

“I understand,” Liam says. He does. He _wants_ to.

“Had it all,” Harry continues. “Record label, fans, money. Had it all, but not you.”

Liam's throat feels tight. “What do you want me to say?”

“I dunno. Nothing. Jus' wanted you to know. That 'm sorry, and I love you. 'S selfish, f'me to show up here. I know that. 'M sorry, f'that too. I'll do whatever y'want, okay? I'll – I'll never talk t'ya again, if that's what you want. Jus' wanted all the cards on the table. So you know.”

He slumps back on the couch, but his thigh is still touching Liam's, hot enough to burn. Letting out a shaky breath, Liam says, “This is a lot to process, Haz.”

“I know. I could – I'll leave. Shouldn't have bothered you, 'n the first place.”

Liam rolls his eyes. “Like I'm gonna let an inebriated popstar out into the wild. Take the couch, okay? I'll get you a glass of water. We'll... we'll talk in the morning, all right?”

Harry smiles up at him, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes. “'S what 'm afraid of, Li. Gonna use you up, if y'let me.”

“It's a glass of water. Renewable resource, H.”

Harry's laugh follows him to the kitchen. By the time he returns with the water, Harry's already passed out, mouth open in a snore. Liam unlaces his boots, pulling them off one by one, and drapes a blanket over him before retreating to his room.

He doesn't remember falling asleep, but when he wakes up, Harry's plastered to his side, face tucked into Liam's neck. Liam automatically looks out the window and it's jarring that he sees a brick wall next door, instead of Harry's curtained window.

 

 

 **track thirteen: everything has changed  
** _“ **your eyes look like coming home”**_

 

It's not hard to extract himself from beneath Harry's sprawling limbs. Harry doesn't do more than grunt in his sleep and tuck his face into Liam's pillow. Liam doesn't envy the headache he's going to have when he finally regains consciousness and tiptoes out of the room in the hopes of putting it off for a few more hours.

He doesn't make it further than the kitchen before Niall accosts him.

“Liam,” he says, gripping Liam's bicep and staring at him with wide blue eyes. “Please tell me there isn't a popstar in our flat.”

“There isn't a popstar in our flat,” Liam repeats dutifully. Niall releases his painful grip on Liam's arm, only to slap him.

“Don't lie 't me!”

“You _told_ me to say it!”

They're interrupted by a low groan coming from the hall. In unison, they both swing their heads towards the sound. Harry's standing there, still wearing his clothes from the night before, hair a wreck and face tinged green.

“Sorry to interrupt, but uh. Where's the bathroom?” he croaks.

“Down the hall, first door on your left.”

He shuffles down the hall without a word, and Niall smacks Liam's arm again. “Liam! Y'need 't warn a bloke when you invite your famous popstar friends over. I wasn't _prepared_.”

Reaching for the kettle, Liam shrugs. “I didn't know he was coming. Anyway, you saw him. He's not exactly at his peak right now.”

By the time Harry makes it back to the kitchen, Liam's finished preparing three mugs of tea and Niall's got half the contents of the fridge frying on the stove top.

“I assume you still like it with milk, no sugar?” Liam says, sliding a steaming mug towards Harry.

Harry just groans, wrapping his hands around the mug and take a deep drink. “I can't decide if I want to eat everything you're cooking, or throw up again.”

“Charming,” Liam observes.

“How d'ya like your eggs?” Niall asks. Liam thinks he's aiming for casual, but the three different frying pans he's using tell a different story. He's a damn show off.

“Surprise me,” Harry says, face still dangerously close to his scalding tea.

Liam crosses his arms. “My flatmate might be nice enough to make you breakfast, but that doesn't mean you're off the hook. We need to talk, Harry. Like adults.”

Lifting his head from his tea, Harry squints up at Liam. “Why do I feel like you're implying this talk involves being sober? Because I think you should strongly reconsider--” he cuts himself off at the look on Liam's face. “Or, you know what. Sobriety's good. Let's do that.”

Near the stove, Niall shakes his head. “Amateur move. Never let Liam's eyebrows get the upper hand.”

-

Niall has a sudden, pressing appointment shortly after breakfast, for which Liam owes him several drinks. Harry watches him walk out the door with sad eyes, but doesn't make a move to escape once it clicks shut behind him.

“So,” he says, gamely. “We, uh. Having that talk, then?”

Liam shrugs. “That was quite the drunken confession you had last night.”

This is it, he knows. The make or break moment. Either Harry is going to write it off as drunk rambling, shooting Liam an apologetic smile and disappearing back to his gilded life, or he'll...

Liam doesn't know. It's fucking terrifying.

“Yeah,” Harry says, shifting around on his chair, like he can't get comfortable. Liam holds his breath. “Listen, Liam. I know I said a lot of shit last night, and it's sort of hazy, but--”

Liam lets it out in a whoosh of air, but before he can open his mouth to say – what? Sorry? Please don't say another word, I'd rather you not witness my breakdown? - Harry continues. “I'm pretty sure I meant every word. I can - just to be sure, the gist of what I was aiming for, last night, was that I'm sorry I was such a prick. I used a lot of really unhealthy coping mechanisms, instead of dealing with my feelings, and mostly just succeeded in hurting you.”

Liam tries to find his voice, but comes up empty, and Harry smiles, like he knows.

“I – for the record, I want to say – I really loved Louis, and I'm sorry, to bring him up again, but you need to know. I loved him, but he wasn't you, and it didn't work. I owe him an apology, too, probably. But, um. Mostly, Liam, I want to say that I'm sorry. I'm sorry I hurt you, and that I auditioned without you, and I think – I tried to explain that last night, and you're not going to get anything better out of me sober, because I don't – I was hurt, and confused, and 17, and it's not an excuse, but. It started a chain of events that I couldn't change – that I still can't change. I wish I could, because fuck, I'd do anything, anything at all, to be what you want.”

He still can't figure out what to say, but Harry's not done. “I love you, Li. As a mate, as a – a brother, almost. As – more than that, definitely. I know that I hurt you, and I'm sorry. More than you know. I've tried everything I could think of, to – to deny how I felt, to forget it, to move on.” He smiles wryly. “Nothing's worked. The only thing I haven't tried is honesty, so. Here it goes. I love you, and it scares the shit out of me. I thought I wanted to be a musician, more than anything, but it turns out that it doesn't matter, if I don't have you. It's always you, Liam. Always has been, I think.”

He waits an expectant thirty seconds while Liam tries and fails to formulate a response. “Um. So, I mean. That's... that's where I'm at, I guess. If you, like. Wanna respond?” His smile looks nervous and Liam can see his leg jiggling beneath the table.

He grabs for Harry's hand and Harry immediately turns his palm up to twine his fingers through Liam's. For a long second, Liam just stares at their clasped hands, before raising his chin to meet Harry's gaze. “I – I'm still not sure I've processed all this,” Liam starts. Harry bites his lip. “But I mean, yeah. Me too. It's always been you, Haz.”

Harry's smile is bright enough to rival the sun and Liam feels a twist in his gut as he forces his next words out. “But I need to think about this. You're still – you've still got this whole new life, that I'm not a part of, and I don't – I don't know where I fit into that. Can I... can I have some time? Please.”

Harry squeezes his hand before carefully extracting his fingers from Liam's grip. “Yeah, of course. Take all the time you need, okay? It's more than I deserve, honestly.”

He pauses, wincing as he adds, “Uh, my phone's still dead. Do you think I could...”

Wordlessly, Liam hands over his phone, pretending not to listen as Harry places a call. “Hey, Z. Yeah, it's me. Sorry, I – listen, can you save the lecture? I just need – yeah, have him send a car. I'll text you the address. I'm sorry, okay? You can yell at me later. Yeah. Thanks, mate.” He shoots off a quick text before handing the phone back over.

Liam rubs his sweaty palms over his thighs, clearing his throat. “You, uh, you didn't mention, but... you and Zayn...?”

“Just mates,” Harry clarifies quickly. “I'm not, like – it feels like he's the only who gets it, sometimes, this mad thing my life has turned into. He keeps me grounded, you know?” He makes a face. “Zayn'll be pissed I came over here unannounced. Has some strong opinions on how I should be making things up to you.”

Liam tries out a smile and thinks he mostly succeeds. “Sounds like a good friend. I'm glad you have him.”

“Yeah,” Harry agrees. “Me too.”

By the time Niall returns home several hours later, unlocking the door with exaggerated noise, Harry's long gone. “You let him _go_?” Niall squawks in outrage.

Liam just shrugs. “It's complicated. I need to think about it.”

Flopping on the couch next to him, Niall steals the remote and changes the channel to some cooking show. “Complicated,” he sniffs. “He loves you, you love him. What's complicated about that?” He drapes an arm around Liam's shoulder and pulls him into a cuddle, softening his words. Liam lets himself melt into Niall's side.

-

Harry keeps his word, giving Liam space to think. Or maybe he's too busy with promo for his album to have any time for Liam. He dismisses the thought as soon as it crosses his mind, because if he wants to make this work, then he needs to give Harry the benefit of the doubt.

Shit. Does he _want_ to make this work?

The answer is still too overwhelming to figure out, so Liam channels his energy into what he does best: song writing. He fills up half a notebook with scrawling, half legible lyrics; fractions of a song that he can't quite finish. Annoyed with himself, he flips through the pages he's filled and sighs at the obvious theme.

Pushing himself off the bed, Liam pads down the hall to Niall's room, knocking on the door frame before nudging Niall's cracked door all the way open. Unsurprisingly, Niall's perched at the foot of his bed, guitar cradled in his lap. “Liam,” he chirps. “What can I do for ya?”

“I have an idea,” Liam explains. “But I'm gonna need your help finishing a song first.”

Grinning, Niall pats the edge of the bed next to him. Liam sits down gratefully.

He doesn't know what he'd do without a friend like Niall.

-

Thursday night, Liam taps the mic, and the crowd doesn't get quiet, exactly, but there is a noticeable dip in the noise level of the pub. “Hey,” Liam starts. “So, I have another new song. I, uh, wrote this one for someone special and I have my mate Eoghan filming this, so. If you see this, it's for you. You know who you are.”

The crowd hums expectantly and Liam nods at Niall, who strums out the opening chord. “This one's called _Happily_ ,” Liam announces.

-

Once Eoghan posts the video, Niall asks Liam, “shouldn't you text him or something? Don't get me wrong, mate, it's a great plan, very romantic, but. How is he gonna see this, otherwise?”

“Nah,” Liam replies, clicking open his email. “I'm gonna send it to my mum.”

Niall raises his brow. “And your mum's going 't show it 't Harry?”

“No. She's going to show it to everyone she knows, though. Including Harry's mum.”

“Ahh.” Shaking his head, Niall reaches out to ruffle Liam's hair, which has grown long enough for Liam to style into a faux mohawk. “Devious, you are.”

Liam just grins.

-

Three days later, Liam's starting to consider that he's over-estimated his mum's ability to gloat about her children and that he's going to need to come up with a Plan B. He hasn't heard from Harry since he walked out of Liam's flat almost three weeks ago, and it seems stupid to text him now to say 'sorry, was trying to be romantic but I've cocked it all up.'

Liam's got his phone out and half a message typed up to say exactly that when Niall bursts through the door, cheeks red and chest heaving.

“Liam,” he pants. “Go get your laptop.”

“What? Why? Are you okay, mate?”

Waving a hand dismissively, Niall flops onto the couch, still trying to catch his breath. “'M fine. I just ran. All the way home. Wanted 't see. If you've. Checked twitter?” He looks at Liam with wide, significant eyes.

“No, I... holy shit. Did he tweet something?” Liam fumbles with his laptop, jerking the screen open and pulling up twitter with clumsy fingers. He jiggles his leg nervously as the page loads and Niall fidgets next to him.

Liam lets out a gush of air when he sees it. Harry's tweet just says, “Wanna be with you so happily xx.” It's timestamped 17 minutes ago.

“Your mum came through, huh?” Niall says, face still a bit flushed.

Scrubbing a hand over his face, Liam groans, “Have you been sitting at work refreshing Harry's twitter? How'd you see it so fast?”

“I get his tweet notifications sent 't my phone. What? _What_? Liam, I did it for you!” Niall calls the words after him, but Liam's already slipping into his room, shutting the door behind him. He pulls his phone out of his pocket, but there's nothing from Harry. It doesn't surprise him. This time, it's Liam's turn to break the silence.

He presses call and Harry picks up right away. He sounds a little breathless, like maybe he was in the middle of something he dropped just to pick up Liam's call.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” Liam echoes. His cheeks hurt a bit, he's smiling so hard, and he rubs his hand over his face. “Saw your tweet.”

“Saw your video,” Harry counters.

Liam's honestly concerned that his face might crack in two. “Before we get into it, I should probably start with saying that I love you, too.”

Harry's intake of breath is audible through the phone. “I've been waiting three weeks for you to say that, you prick.”

Letting himself sink down onto his bed, Liam bites his lip. “Been waiting five years to tell you, if I'm being honest.”

“Honest is good. I like honest. I like you, Liam Payne.”

“I like you, too, Harry Styles.”

From the hall comes a thump, then a muffled yell, “What, are you two actual ten-year-olds? What kind of confession is that?”

Laughing dizzily, Liam mumbles, “I've got a bit of an audience, here.”

“Yeah,” Harry agrees. “I've got some press thing, in a minute, but – I want to see you again. Soon. D'you think we could--”

“Yeah. Yes, of course. We'll figure it out, yeah? Whatever it takes.”

“Whatever it takes,” Harry echoes. Liam can hear the smile in voice. There's a muffled cheer from the hall and Liam ends the call still grinning.

Liam's phone has barely gone dark before it lights up again, Harry's name flashing across the screen. “Yeah, okay,” Harry says as soon as Liam picks up. “Fuck this. I can be at yours in two hours. I'm done waiting.”

“What about your press thing?”

“This is more important,” Harry insists. “You're more important. I fucked up, before. I'm not gonna make the same mistake this time, Liam.”

-

Two hours and thirty-seven minutes later, not that Liam was counting, there's a banging knock on the door.

“Sorry,” Harry says when Liam opens it. “Traffic. And parking around here is a nightmare, did you know? Took me ages to find a spot, and then I had to walk three blocks and cut through an alley when some girls recognized me--”

Liam cuts off his rambling by leaning in and pressing his mouth to Harry's. It's a bit awkward, as Harry's lips were parted mid-word, and he's about to pull back when Harry cups Liam's cheek with one hand, kissing Liam with intent, his mouth hot like a brand, lips and tongue teasing until Liam feels drunk with it.

They're both a little breathless when Liam finally does pull back a few minutes later, wetting his lips with his tongue like he's chasing Harry's taste.

“We should – bedroom,” Harry suggests nonsensically. He looks flushed and eager, like the layers have been peeled back until he's the Harry that Liam remembers, the Harry that Liam wanted but could never have.

Grabbing Harry's wrist, Liam tugs him towards his room. He pauses long enough to kick the door shut behind them, and then Harry is on him again, pressing Liam back until the doorknob is pressing against his spine, making his back arch, and Harry's mouth is on his, his hands roaming over Liam's chest and down to his hips.

Harry finds the hem of Liam's shirt, slipping his fingers underneath to trace over Liam's ribs, making him shiver.

“Off,” Harry mumbles against Liam's mouth, tugging at the fabric until Liam obediently lifts his arms, letting Harry pull it over his head. The doorknob is digging uncomfortably into his back now, Harry taking advantage of the angle of Liam's hips to grind up against him, and a groan catches in Liam's throat.

On unsteady feet, Liam pushes forward, walking Harry backwards towards the bed. Harry's knees catch on the edge of the mattress and Liam shoves at his shoulders until he falls back on the bed in a sprawl. Liam crawls on top of him, pushing up the bottom of Harry's shirt until the cut of his hipbone is exposed, dark ink curling over his tan skin. Leaning down, Liam presses an open mouth kiss to Harry's hip, mouthing his way up Harry's chest until his shirt is rucked up to his armpits. He pauses to lick at one of Harry's nipples and Harry whines, twining his fingers through Liam's hair and tugging him up until he can kiss Liam again.

“Fuck, Liam,” Harry groans, hands slipping down to cup Liam's arse through his jeans. “Got so jealous, thinking about other people getting to touch you like this.”

“Haven't been many,” Liam admits, ducking his head to kiss along Harry's jawline. Harry tips his head back against the bed, so Liam sucks a bruising kiss onto his throat, teeth scraping over the skin until it blooms red. He pulls back to admire his work and Harry grins up at him.

“That's gonna be a pain to cover up, you know.”

Liam presses his thumb into the mark, watches Harry's eyes slip close as he hisses at the feeling. “I know.”

“ _Christ_ , Liam,” Harry grits out, flipping them in an easy move so he's got Liam pinned beneath him. Harry's shirt is still pushed halfway up his torso, so he pulls it off, throwing it to floor. Then his hands are sliding down Liam's chest, over his abs, until his fingers are unfastening the button of his jeans, tugging down his zipper. Harry hitches himself up enough to drag Liam's jeans halfway down his thighs before settling himself back onto Liam's lap, his thumbs rubbing teasingly just beneath the waistband of his pants, carefully avoiding where Liam's dick is tenting out the front. Liam reaches down between them, but Harry slaps his hand away.

“Harry,” Liam says, bordering on desperate. “I need you to. Please.”

“To what, Liam?” Harry asks, mouth tipped up in a wicked grin.

“Jesus, fuck, touch me, please.”

“'S hot when you beg,” Harry murmurs, which Liam would totally take offense to, but then Harry is sliding down between Liam's legs, shoving his jeans down until Liam can kick them off one ankle. Harry starts mouthing over the fabric of Liam's pants until its wet with spit and precome, and Liam is nearly shaking underneath him.

He almost shouts when Harry finally peels his pants down far enough to free his dick, Harry's breath hot against his sensitive skin and the muscles of his stomach tensing when Harry pins him down with one hand, fingers gripping tightly. Harry wraps his other hand loosely around Liam's dick, and his hips jerk on reflex against Harry's hold. Still grinning, Harry doesn't break eye contact with Liam as he licks around the head of Liam's dick before swallowing him down, hand pumping over what he can't fit in his mouth.

It's all Liam can do to remember how to breathe, one hand clenching the sheets with white knuckles and the other pressed against his mouth, muffling the noises trying to spill out as Harry's head bobs over his dick.

Harry pulls off, still wanking Liam slowly, and says, voice hoarse, “C'mon, Liam. Wanna hear you.” He climbs up the bed, chest brushing against Liam's dick and making him whimper, until he can gently pry Liam's hand away from his mouth and kiss him softly. Liam kisses him back, hips grinding up against Harry's desperately. Lacing his fingers through Liam's, Harry breaks the kiss, pressing his lips to the corner of Liam's mouth one last time before ducking back down between Liam's legs. He keeps a tight hold on Liam's hand as he wraps his lips around Liam's dick again, working his mouth and fingers over him until Liam can't choke back the breathy gasps and bitten-off whimpers.

“I'm-- gonna--” he manages in warning, and Harry pulls off again, his lips red and wet as he looks up at Liam. It's enough to push Liam over the edge and he comes with shout, spilling over Harry's hand and his own stomach. Harry works him through it until Liam collapses back onto the mattress, boneless and spent. It's only then that Liam realizes that Harry hasn't touched himself at all. He reaches towards Harry's flies with clumsy fingers, but Harry bats his hand away, tugging down his zipper and getting his own hand around himself. He's still straddled over Liam's lap, balancing with one hand on Liam's shoulder and wanking himself roughly with the other.

Liam reaches for his hips, holding him steady, watching the way Harry bites his lip, hard enough that it turns the skin white. He's still wearing his trousers, the fabric rough against Liam's bare thighs, and christ, if it isn't hot enough to have Liam seriously considering a second round.

“God, Harry,” he babbles. “You're so – I can't think straight. Want you to fuck me, and I want to get my mouth on you, and I want – I want to see you on your knees, and--”

Harry makes a low, keening noise, hips stuttering into the circle of his fingers and shoulders hunching in as he comes, striping Liam's chest before he collapses against him, breath coming in hot gasps.

“Christ, Liam,” Harry croaks once he's caught his breath. “When did you get so filthy?”

Liam nuzzles his face into the hollow of Harry's throat. “You said you liked honest.”

“Yeah,” Harry agrees, pressing a swift kiss to Liam's forehead. “Like you most of all. You're my best mate, Liam.”

Liam can’t help the way his lips pull up into a smile. “Yeah, I know. You’re mine too, Haz.”

 

 

 **bonus track: i know places  
** **_"and you know for me, it's always you_  
** **_in the dead of night, your eyes so green_  
** _**and i know for you, it's always me”**_

 

“Got your package in the mail today.”

“Mmm,” Harry purrs into the phone. “You wish you had my package.”

Liam snorts. “Is that the best you can do? For a bloke who made Sugarscape's hottest 25 celebrities under 25, you're rubbish at dirty talk.”

He probably imagines that he can hear the sound of Harry stamping his foot. “I'm _trying_ , Liam. It's going to be another three weeks before I get to see you again.” His voice drops. “Another three weeks before I can get my mouth on your cock.”

“Christ, Harry,” Liam hisses. “I'm at a _bus stop_.”

“And who's fault is that?” Harry asks cheerfully. “Hope you enjoy the package. The one I sent you, I mean. Not my dick. Well, I hope you enjoy my dick, too, but not for another three weeks. Um.”

And just like that, Liam's laughing into the phone. “Love you, Haz. Next three weeks'll fly by. You'll see.”

“They better,” Harry grouses.

It's hours before Liam gets home to unwrap Harry's present. He digs through what seems to be an excessive amount of tissue paper until his fingers finally find the smooth plastic of a CD case. When he cracks it open, a slip of paper falls out, fluttering to the floor. Liam bends down to scoop it up, eyes skimming over Harry's messy handwriting.

 _For inspiration_ , it reads. _Songs by the most talen_ _t_ _ed song writers of our generation._

Curious, Liam pops it into the stereo.

There are fourteen tracks. Every single one of them is Taylor Swift.

-

Three weeks later, Liam falls asleep on Harry's couch, exhausted from a long day in the studio. His eyelids feel like sandpaper when he blinks them open at the unexpected touch of Harry's fingers against his jaw. Still groggy, Liam yawns and turns his cheek into Harry's palm.

“Missed you,” Harry says softly, fingers still brushing over Liam's face, smoothing over the rough stubble dotting his jaw.

Reaching up, Liam grabs Harry's wrist and tugs him down so that he's sprawled over his lap. “Missed you too,” he breathes, catching Harry's mouth in a kiss. It doesn't matter how many times he kisses Harry, he thinks. It's still as electric as the first time.

Harry kisses him back easily, mouth soft and pliant, but he pulls back after a minute, sitting up so Liam can't reach him.

“I was promised a package,” Liam complains, hand sliding up Harry's thigh. Harry swats at him, laughing, before climbing off his lap and grabbing Liam's hand, tugging him up.

“C'mon,” he says, dragging Liam behind him, pulling harder when Liam digs his feet in, refusing to move.

“Haz. The bedroom's that way,” Liam says, pointing over his shoulder.

“Yes, thank you, Liam. That's very helpful. The front door is this way, though.”

“Uh huh.” With a sudden tug, Liam jerks on Harry's arm until he loses his balance, falling back against Liam. Arms around him, Liam finds Harry's mouth, kissing him quick and dirty. Harry leans into it a minute before he realizes that Liam is trying to distract him.

“No, stop that!” Harry scolds, but his inability to keep a straight face undermines his serious tone. “Please, Liam. I have something to show you.”

“Better than a shag?” Liam questions. “Haven't seen you in weeks, Harry. Don't really care about anything other than getting you naked.”

For a moment, Harry looks like he's going to give in, gaze flicking down to Liam's mouth and bottom lip captured by his teeth. Then he visibly shakes himself, turning towards the front door. At the end of the hall, he pauses to look back at Liam, all big green eyes and pouty lips. “Please, Liam? It's important to me.”

“Oh, all right,” Liam finally caves, rolling his eyes and following after Harry.

A twenty minute drive later, Harry pulls down a quiet street, trees lining the road, and parks in front of a house halfway down the block. There's a For Sale sign in the front garden.

“What's this, Harry?”

Grinning almost shyly, Harry turns off the ignition and gestures for Liam to follow him inside the house. It's big and empty, early evening sunlight shinning through the floor to ceiling windows, and their footsteps echoing around the space as Harry leads Liam on a tour.

“And wait, you haven't even seen the best part,” he says, gleeful like a kid, tugging Liam by the hand down the stairs. He turns towards Liam expectantly when they reach the bottom step, smile threatening to crack his face in two. “Check this out, Liam, it's an actual recording studio! You could record all the songs you write right here, how amazing is that?”

Liam smiles back. “It's really amazing, Haz.”

“You like it, then?”

Looking around, it's not hard to picture Harry filling the space, his smile bright enough to light the room. “Yeah,” he says. “I do. This place would be perfect for you.”

“Oh my god, Liam, how are you still this dense?” Harry huffs. “This place isn't for _me_.”

“Um,” Liam tries to think, wracking his brain for someone else Harry might buy a house for and coming up empty.

“It's for _us_ ,” Harry says slowly, like Liam is a toddler. “You graduate in a month, and you've been talking about getting a place in London for ages. You practically live at mine, anyway, and I know you hate that flat.”

“Harry, you can't just – _buy_ me a house, christ.”

“So buy it with me,” Harry says, so quickly that Liam narrows his eyes. Harry was prepared for that argument. “No, don't give me that _look_ , Liam. Obviously this place is a bit over your budget, but you can contribute however much you want so you don't feel like you're _using_ me, even though I've _said_ , countless times--”

Liam bites a lip to keep from smiling at Harry's exasperated tone. “And how do you know I even have money to contribute, hmm? I'm just a broke uni student, surviving on my popstar boyfriend's generosity.”

Harry makes careful eye contact with a spot on the wall over Liam's shoulder. “I mean, I _may_ have taken Julian out for a drink or twelve, and if the terms of your contract happened to come up during the conversation, well, I was only being a supportive mate, making sure you were being compensated adequately for your writing.”

“You did not.”

Harry grins. “You've been holding out on me, Li. Taylor Swift is interested in writing with you, and you don't even mention it?”

“There's a big difference between 'interested in' and 'confirmed,' first of all, which Julian of all people _knows_ , and--” he cuts himself when he realizes Harry is laughing. “You know what? If I'm really gonna write with Taylor, I'm gonna need some new material. I hear break-up songs sell really well.”

“Nooo, no, no,” Harry says quickly, wrapping Liam up in a hug and pressing kisses all over his face. “I'm sorry,” he says, still laughing. “You're stuck with me forever, though. It's non-negotiable.”

“Such a romantic,” Liam mumbles, tipping Harry's chin up so he can kiss him properly on the mouth. When Harry breaks the kiss, he keeps his forehead pressed against Liam's.

“So what do you think, Liam?” he asks, voice soft. “I gotta call the estate agent tonight to give the keys back and let her know if we're putting in an offer.”

Liam rubs his palms over Harry's back. “It's a big house, Haz. For just the two of us.”

Pulling back to catch Liam's eye, Harry smiles. “Could get a dog, maybe a coupla kids. The whole white-picket-fence experience.”

“You always did dream big.”

“Wished on shooting stars, is what I did. And you know what, Liam?” He grabs one of Liam's hands, brings Liam's knuckles to his mouth in a soft kiss. “Came true, didn't it? Got you.”

“Yeah,” Liam agrees, threading his fingers through Harry's. “Always.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> i plotted this entire fic out before 1989 was released; my only regret is that i could not include more songs that were actually written about harry styles. 
> 
> comments/feedback always appreciated. you can also come say hi on [tumblr](http://moondoggiestyle.tumblr.com/) :)


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